


The Dubious Mercy of a Vicious King

by lamentomori



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Plot convenient Taichi!, Smut, Suzuki is a warning all of his own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: Naito should train Hiromu better. He should not accept drinks from Taichi. He should definitely not go along with plans thought up by the two of them.





	1. The Mercy of the King

There’s an itching under his skin, like he’s wearing the wrong suit of skin. He’s no idea what’s caused it, even less idea of how to deal with it. He can barely think around the disquiet inside him. Everything is disjointed. Everything is uncomfortable. Everything is wrong. Everything is out of sync.

Relief did come though. It started with Zack twisting him in ways he’s not supposed to go. His knees, his garbage knees, were wrenched in ways knees are not supposed to go, and it fucking hurt, but it sated the itch. His body ached, but it was a satisfying ache. One that resonated though his body until the next time in the ring. For the brief moment, when he’d been twisted and in agony he’d felt better. Stretched and pained, his body felt like it worked together properly.

Hiromu, calling in what was the morning for him as he’d been exiled to America, had laughed at him. He’d warned Tetsuya that this was a slippery slope. It’s a ridiculous thing to be warned of slippery slopes by Hiromu. His little student leaps from terrible idea to terrible idea, but unlike Tetsuya, Hiro has a naturally short attention span. He obsesses deep, hard, and for an hour, as evidenced by Hiro, Tetsuya will keep his obsessions for years. Hiro had warned him softly that whatever he was chasing would probably end badly, but if he could help he’d try to not be too distracted by his current feud with El Desperado, and maybe Rocky Romero. Hiro himself isn’t sure who he’s feuding with, but his protégé is not good at focussing, and is probably feuding with both really.  

The next night he’s in the ring with Suzuki.

It’s worse.

It’s perfect.

The vicious bastard hurts him. Every minute he’s in Suzuki’s grasp, his body sings in agony. It’s awful. He loves it. Suzuki seems _slightly_ annoyed. His attacks burn, like fighting a flaming torture rack. The more Tetsuya seems to ignore him, or grin, or laugh at him, the more Suzuki rages, the more Suzuki hurts him, the more Tetsuya leans into it, the more he craves it. He staggers to the back, ignoring everything but the glorious burn of pain, and the hum of his skin fitting properly. Bushi shoots him an odd look. He ignores it. He doesn’t want to lose this moment of everything fitting together properly.

Hiromu laughs at him on the phone again. When he picks the cackling, little shit up from the airport, he’s going to smack him in his cute little face. Hiromu is an expert in matters of obsession though. His techniques for achieving satisfaction in his obsessions aren’t good, but he generally does seem to fulfil them. Tetsuya obsesses, but he generally has no idea how to fulfil his obsessions. _Be careful_. Hiro’s only advice. Tetsuya is even worse than Hiro at following advice.

Goading Suzuki Minoru is a stupid idea. It hurts. He loves it. He wants more. His body aches. He wants more. Every stretch, every pull, every single thing Suzuki does hurts. He wants so much more. He grins, he laughs, he spits, he turns his back to Suzuki, he refuses to even look at him. Suzuki hurts him even more. His body screams, but it’s a scream of satisfaction.

Hiromu laughs at him in person. Tetsuya bops him on the nose, and gives him a coffee. He loves Hiro. He can’t bring himself to smack him in the face as he deserves. He laughs harder at that when Tetsuya tells him. In their match, he’s going to let Suzuki beat the crap out of Hiro.

He ends up letting Suzuki ruin his knees more to save Hiro from the beating he very much deserves. It feels like Suzuki punishes him even more for putting himself on the line to save someone else. It aches. A horribly perfect ache. He wants more. He needs more. The next match with Suzuki is better. He seems damn near insatiable. Grabbing, pulling, stretching, smacking. Every action he can think of to pull Tetsuya apart, and he craves more of it. He wants Suzuki’s best shot. He wants to be torn apart, and destroyed. All so he can reassemble himself. He wants to be rid of the itching.

Evil’s return is overshadowed for Tetsuya. Suzuki tries to kill him in a stairwell. His hands on his body, squeezing, tearing, rending him. His hands around Tetsuya’s throat, wringing the life from him. By the time he makes it back to the rest of his team, he’s aching. By the sounds of the locker room, they won. By the pain of his body, so did he.

“Where were you?” Hiromu, unsurprisingly, is the first to talk to him. He sounds close to frantic. His eyes run over Tetsuya, and drags him straight to the showers. “And people wonder where I get it from.” He nods at Tetsuya’s groin. There’s an undeniable _tenting_. Hiromu looks judgemental. He has no business judging Tetsuya on anything relating to fucking his opponents.  

“You! _You’re_ judging me?” Tetsuya snaps, turning the shower on, and pulling off his clothes. He doesn’t want to think too much about what his dick’s doing. Autonomous penises are the worst design flaw human’s have.

“Strongly.” Hiromu laughs, stripping out of his gear, smirking at Tetsuya. He steps into the shower, and holds his hand out to Tetsuya.

“You, the man who tries to fuck everyone he’s ever been in the ring with.” Tetsuya lets Hiro pull him under the shower spray. Hiro slides a thigh between Tetsuya’s rubbing against his stupidly hard cock.

“Succeeded with most of them too.” Hiro smiles, his lashes low over his eyes, his sexiest, hottest, _come fuck me_ gaze. “But at least I’m not getting off on having the shit kicked outta me.” He laughs, and starts getting washed, pointedly ignoring Tetsuya and his still hard cock.

“I’m not even getting a hand?” Hiro looks at him, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not getting involved in any of the kinky shit that’s getting you off today.” Hiro twists Tetsuya around, pressing him back against the wall of the shower. “Not to kink shame, but we both know I’m not exactly the sadistic type.” Hiro presses himself against the length of Tetsuya’s body, licks the corner of his mouth, and taps him on the nose.

“And I am?” Tetsuya rubs his eyes, pushes Hiro away, and gets washed quickly, ignoring his cock, hoping it’ll go away on its own. He’s used to his body needing pain inflicted on it by now, but the fact that his dick has gotten in on the act feels like a betrayal. Hiro levels him with a very sympathetic look, and sinks to his knees, shoving Tetsuya back against the shower wall again.

“No…you do appear to be a masochist though.” Hiro grins at him, and takes his entire cock into his mouth. Blowjobs are a speciality of Hiro’s. He can’t shake the thought of Suzuki’s hands around his throat. His hands tangle in Hiro’s hair, and he pulls back. “No hair pulling. Desperado keeps doing it, and it hurts.” He presses Tetsuya’s hands back against the wall. He tugs Tetsuya’s balls, and retakes his cock into his mouth. Tetsuya’s mind drifts, the feeling of his body being pulled in the wrong directions, the warmth of Suzuki’s skin on his, his rough hands stretching him, his short, blunt nails digging into him, the vague scent of danger that clings to Suzuki filling his nostrils – things that are distinctly Suzuki and a million miles from cute, little, on his knees Hiromu. He would bet money that Hiro sucks cock a thousand times better than Suzuki, to be honest, he’d bet money that Suzuki hasn’t even had a cock in his mouth. Hiro’s teeth scrape along his cock, and the sudden sting of pain snaps Tetsuya out of his head.

“Oh fuck.” His hands want to grab Hiro’s head, and to pull at his hair, but a sharp rap on his foot, and a fiery look from Hiro, keeps his hands in place. Hiro finishes him off quickly, and bounces to his feet, kissing Tetsuya, forcing his cum into his mouth. He’s never liked Hiro’s irritating habit of making him taste himself, but right then it’s about the best thing that’s ever happened. It’s so rare that Hiro is even _slightly_ forceful with him, and right now he needs it. He needs a strong hand before this thing with Suzuki gets worse.

It gets worse.

It gets _far_ worse.

“Can we not give Hiromu a heart attack?” He’s barely made it out of the medical area before a flustered Bushi shows up, fluttering like a little, stressed butterfly. Evil is helping him on the path to their locker room. Inside there’s a startled looking Sanada and the physical remnants of Hiromu’s _heart attack_ or temper tantrum, the scattered mess that is a Los Ingobernables de Japon locker room makes it hard to tell if Hiro actually _did_ anything. “Oh fuck.” Bushi sounds utterly frazzled. The life of Bushi is hard. He spends his time dealing with the rest of them. Poor man. “Where’s the other one?” Sanada shrugs, toeing the closest bag to him, checking if it’s his.

“It was the weirdest thing.” Sanada rights the bag, satisfied it is his, and gives Bushi his most charming smile. Bushi looks at him blankly. Bushi is immune to charming smiles. “Hiro left...” Bushi shoves Tetsuya towards the showers, and stalks closer to Sanada. “With Taichi of all people.” Sanada is wearing an expression that would suit a statue of Buddah. He is a serene man. It’s enviable to be so calm in the face of the rest of them. Los Ingobernables de Japon are in many ways a chaotic, and far from tranquil bunch.  

“Why the fuck is Hiro with Taichi?” He’s not sure if he or Bushi screamed that louder, the looks from both Evil and Sanada suggest it was him. Sanada shrugs, and starts getting dressed. It’s then that Tetsuya notices he’s sitting in nothing more than a towel. Evil finishes shoving Tetsuya into the showers, and vaguely promises to fetch Hiro if he’s gone for more than five minutes. This seems like an overly generous allotment of time. Five minutes gives his protégé far too much of an allowance. Hiromu can get a lot done in five minutes.

His shower is a very shameful thing. His mind wanders to the agony that Suzuki caused him. Suzuki’s warm, surprisingly pleasant breath on his neck, his low, growling voice in his ear, snarling a million other things he could do to cause Tetsuya pain, each one dragging more blood from his head to his cock. His forehead falls to the tiles, his hand wraps around his achingly hard cock. His breathing picks up as he strokes himself. Suzuki wrenching his neck back, pulls his legs apart, bending him in all the wrong ways. He needs more. He needs that pain, not just the memory of it. That low, gravelly voice sneering at him. He wants Suzuki there, he wants that vicious mind, that cruel body, that awful man tearing him apart.

“Fuck.” He comes with groan. Hiro laughs at him. He really should smack him. “Make some noise.” Hiro shakes his head, and folds his arms over his chest. “Why were you with Taichi?”

“We were discussing mutual problems.” Tetsuya shuts off the shower, and catches the towel Hiro tosses him.

“What problems? And what mutual do you have with him?” He scrubs the towel over his shoulders, and down his body. “He made you cry.” There are few people who have made Hiro cry who have lived without Tetsuya beating the shit out of them. He’s beaten the shit out of Taichi repeatedly.

“Meh. Plenty of people have made me cry.” Hiro shrugs. His gaze is judgemental. “But thank you for your concern? I imagine that’s concern.” Tetsuya nods vaguely securing the towel around his waist. “I like Taichi.”

“He made you cry.” Tetsuya repeats, scrubbing his hair dry with the second towel Hiro hands him. Making Hiro cry isn’t something Tetsuya forgives easily. Hiro pulls an odd face, dismissing Tetsuya’s concerns.

“He’s a good fuck.” Hiro laughs at whatever face he was wearing. It’s probably a strange mix of fury, disgust, and resignation. “Please. He made me cry, I had to prove a point.”

“I don’t even…I have raised you terribly.” Tetsuya ruffles Hiro’s hair, and wonders if he’s somehow responsible for the mess that is Hiromu.

“You have.” Hiro leans up to press a vague kiss to somewhere near Tetsuya’s mouth. He seems distracted, but that is nothing new for Hiromu. His arms drape over Tetsuya’s shoulders. “Taichi is the worst though…no use in planning at all.”

“And you’re planning what exactly?” It’s times like these that Tetsuya almost regrets not listening to Bushi more often. He’d warned that having Hiro in L.I.J. would make things more _complicated_. Hiro’s plans are usually chaotic, and end up with him fucking someone. He doesn’t want to think about who it is he’s looking to get into bed with this one.

“Hmm…what indeed, my dearest Naito?” He laughs, and pecks Tetsuya’s nose. He smirks suddenly, and nuzzles at Tetsuya’s neck. “Do you think I should let Desperado know that I know we had sex?”

“What?” He tries to look at Hiro, but he’s busy lick/kissing Tetsuya’s neck. The abrupt change of subject isn’t what throws him, it’s the revelation that Hiromu’s already fucked Desperado. He’d expected that to still be on the to-do list.

“We got drunk _ages_ ago, and had sex, and all this time he’s thought I didn’t know it was him.” He sounds almost scolding, like this should be obvious. Honestly, it probably should have been. If the next thing out of Hiro’s mouth is that he fucked Rocky Romero on the off chance they were having a feud it would be no less unsurprising.

“Is it your intention to fuck all of Suzuki-Gun, or just the juniors? Is Taka on the list next?” Tetsuya tilts his head to the side a little. Hiro knows the spot that makes his moan pathetically. His mind is trying to conjure up ways to have Suzuki’s breath on the area.

“I’m thinking maybe one of the foreigners…would you recommend Zack?” Hiro pulls back just enough to wink, and then rests his head against Tetsuya’s shoulder, snuggling like a little kitten. “Or maybe I should skip straight to the general.” Tetsuya grabs his shoulders, holds him out at arms length, and shakes him. A smirk blossoms on Hiromu’s lips. He’s made a terrible mistake. Hiro laughs, and slips from his grasp. A horrible, terrible mistake has been made, the Taichi of mistakes. He has shown Hiromu the weakness he was looking for, and he’s very pleased with the revelation

Nothing happens in the locker room. Nothing happens as they eat dinner. Nothing happens as they all get drunker. Nothing happens as he’s half-carried, half-dragged to his hotel room by Evil. Hiro and Sanada had decided to continue the night at some club. Bushi had wanted to go to bed hours ago, but Sanada hadn’t let him, so he’s stuck going to the club too. Hiro was wearing a ridiculous black coat with tassels. He almost feels sorry for Desperado. Being the target of Hiro’s attention is not an enviable thing most of the time. Evil’s joining the others once he’s dumped Tetsuya. He’s grateful for being dumped. He’s not sure he’d be very good company. That’s probably why he’s being dumped really. He’s left in the hotel bar. Taichi is there. He orders him a whisky. Tetsuya isn’t a fan. Not of whisky, and not of Taichi. He endures both.

“He said he wouldn’t let you get this drunk.” Taichi sighs, smoke billowing from his mouth. Tetsuya hadn’t noticed the cigarette.

“Why is Hiro talking to you? You made him cry.” It’s a stupid accusation to make, one that makes Taichi look at him in mild confusion. Alcohol makes Tetsuya stupid.

“When? Also, it’s not hard to make your acolyte cry, Naito. He’s… _fragile_.” Taichi sips at his once more filled whisky glass. Vices seem to manifest around him. Tetsuya can’t remember if he was always like this. His mind is too fuzzy, and he feels too off to be able to trawl his memories.

“People should be nice to Hiro. He’s a good boy.” Tetsuya mutters, sipping his whisky, and feeling vaguely certain that half of what he just said is a lie.

“A delight.” Taichi is a master of sounding like an asshole. He’s a master of being an asshole too. “Here.” He sets a key-card on the bar top. “Go take care of me and your boy’s problem, okay?” Tetsuya stares at the key. Taichi kicks his shin. “Room eight-twenty-four. Go.” Tetsuya does as he’s told.

The elevator is empty apart from the man employed to operate it. He looks suspiciously at Tetsuya. He assures him he’s not going to be sick. The elevator operator doesn’t seem convinced. He’s not too convinced either. He’s more drunk than he’d wanted. He’d wanted to be drunk enough to shove everything with Suzuki to the back of his mind. Instead, he’s drunk enough to be horny, and the pain that Suzuki Minoru can cause him is front and centre in his mind. The elevator man looks happy when Tetsuya staggers out on the eighth floor. The key from Taichi is in his hand, there’s a sign with arrows pointing left and right. One to twenty is to the left, twenty-one to forty is to the right. The key in his hand is twenty-four. He’s really going to have to smack Hiro when he seems him next. This is his fault. He has a terrible feeling he knows what, more accurately who, is in room eight-twenty-four, and he’s not sure he’s grateful for that.

The room is dark. One lamp is the only lighting in the room. The air is thick with tension, despite there being only one man in the room. It’s bluntly stark. There’s nothing personal visible at all, apart from the man himself. Suzuki is sitting on an armchair under a tall floor lamp. He’s dressed simply, a white t-shirt, dark sweatpants, and bright coloured socks. In one hand is a glass of something amber, Tetsuya is a beer drinker, he knows very little to nothing of liquor. Suzuki looks at Tetsuya with unfiltered disgust.

“What?” Suzuki shifts in his chair slightly. Tetsuya’s thrown for a moment, just a moment. He rolls his eyes, and pointedly ignores Suzuki. He heads for the bathroom. His hands are shaking. He’s too drunk to deal with this. “Oi!” A bang on the door jars Tetsuya from staring at his slightly fuzzy reflection. He has no idea what the hell he’s going to do. He can’t walk out there, and demand Suzuki slaps him in some horrid submission hold that twists him into an agonised pretzel. “Oi!” Another bang on the door. “Fucking punk! Get out of there.”

“Fuck you, old man.” Tetsuya snaps, and decides to make use of the toilet. He’s going to look very sternly at Hiromu, and eviscerate Taichi. Another loud bang on the door. Tetsuya glances over at the door, and washes his hands. His next choice is does he leave the bathroom, or does he stay here until Suzuki realises he never locked the door in the first place. The door slams against the wall.

“The hell are you doing in here, Naito?” Suzuki fills the entire doorframe. His hands are clutching the wood, his knuckles white. Tetsuya snorts dismissively at him, and slowly dries his hands with the towel. “Answer me.” Suzuki strides into the bathroom, and kicks the back of one of Tetsuya’s knees, grabbing him by his hair, stopping his chin from colliding with the sink. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Being assaulted, apparently.” Tetsuya has no idea how he’s keeping his voice so bland, his heart is racing, but thankfully his breathing is even, deep and calm.

“Answer my fucking question, you little shit.” Suzuki’s hand tightens in his hair, holding him in what is an awkwardly uncomfortable pose, his legs bent in a strange way. Suzuki pulls him up, and holds him in some painful choke. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

“With my key.” Tetsuya manages to gasp around the choke, and his blood rushing to the wrong place. Suzuki sneers again. His arm tightening around Tetsuya’s neck. His head is lacking blood and air. The shortage isn’t stopping the smirk that’s forming on his lips. He meets Suzuki’s eyes in the mirror. “I got in with my key.” He manages to pull the key-card from his pocket, and taps it off Suzuki’s arm. Suzuki snatches the key, and shoves him forward into the sink. Tetsuya grasps the porcelain, his breath fogging the mirror slightly. He can see Suzuki glaring at the key-card in his hands like it had personally offended him. Suzuki tosses the card at Tetsuya’s head.

“Get the fuck out.” He returns to the doorway. Tetsuya stretches against the sink. He’s sure it looks unconsciously like he’s shoving his ass out, he’s not sure if it is or isn’t unconsciously. Suzuki is glowering at him. Tetsuya is certain the outside is tranquilo, but inside he’s a mess. “Oi! Get the fuck out.” He glances over at Suzuki, barely looking at him. That seems to infuriate Suzuki. Before Tetsuya can think, he’s wrapped in some painful hold that’s stretching him in an agonising way. Suzuki is snarling in his ear, but Tetsuya has no idea what he’s saying. His mind is shredded. He can’t focus on anything but the pain. Suzuki changes his hold, yanking Tetsuya back further, stretching him more, bringing more pain. Then suddenly, it stops. Suzuki stands up, glowering down at him.

Suzuki laughs.

His foot presses down against Tetsuya’s stupid fabric covered erection. He laughs again, his socked heel grinding against Tetsuya’s hard cock. He’s not looking. He can’t bring himself to look. He knows Suzuki will be looking at him in disgust. He’s not sure if it’ll be disgust that’ll end well or badly for him. He’s not sure what good or bad will be in this situation.

“ _That’s_ why you’re here, huh?” Suzuki toes at Tetsuya’s groin. “Fucking pervert.” The heel of his foot against Tetsuya’s cock again. “I should have known.” Tetsuya bites back a moan, and hopes that he’s managing to keep a blank face. He must, because Suzuki almost growls as he grabs him by the hair again, pulling him up to his knees. Tetsuya keeps his gaze focused on anything but Suzuki. That seems to infuriate him even more. “Oi, pervert.” He shakes Tetsuya by the hair. It hurts enough that he feels like he works properly. “Pervert.” Suzuki yanks his head back suddenly. It forces Tetsuya to meet his eyes. “I wondered why your little pet was fucking his way through my army…now I know, hmm?” He slaps Tetsuya’s cheek. His head snaps to the side with its force, but Tetsuya makes no attempt at moving it back to face Suzuki.  “Which one gave him a key for you?” Another slap to the other side of Tetsuya’s face. “One of the foreigners?” Another slap, the opposite cheek again. Once more he doesn’t look at Suzuki. He growls, and tosses Tetsuya to the bathroom floor. “Should I ask the worthless whore myself?” Tetsuya really needs to learn to not leap to Hiromu’s defence. Him launching himself at Suzuki has only resulted in him being caught in some painful hold, his chest against the bathroom door, and Suzuki pressed along his back. “That’s a very glaring weakness.” Suzuki’s breath is tinged with whatever he was drinking, and hot against Tetsuya’s neck. He wrenches Tetsuya’s arm up higher. He stands on his tiptoes, playing at escaping the pain, but wanting more, wanting Suzuki closer. “I’ll ask again.” Suzuki tightens the hold, and presses Tetsuya firmer against the door. His chest feels constricted, his breathing coming in stupidly fast gasps.

“Ask what, old man?” Tetsuya closes his eyes, focussing on the pain in his arm, and the quickness of his breath. Suzuki is silent for a moment, and then releases him. “That’s it?” Tetsuya stays against the door, getting his breath back under control. “All the great King of Wrestling has to offer?” He laughs. Suzuki raises an eyebrow, a wry smirk twisting his lips.

“A drunk, perverted piece of shit like you isn’t my type.” He leaves the bathroom. “Send me your stupid, pretty pet instead.” He _really_ needs to learn to not leap so swiftly to Hiro’s defence. He collides with Suzuki’s back, and Suzuki collides with the dresser. He’s a sudden flurry of movement and pain. “Dumb, fucking punk.” He sneers, disgust thick in his tone as he rends Tetsuya. He knocks his head back, connecting with Suzuki’s nose. “Stupid, Naito. Very stupid.” He’s stretching Tetsuya’s spine, pulling him in terrible ways that he shouldn’t be able to go. His elbows are digging into him in awkward ways, sharp and bony points of pain. There’s a razor-sharp edge to his voice. “You’re here for me to hurt, right?” Suzuki bites his ear. Tetsuya grunts, his eyes screwing shut, but not giving Suzuki anything more than that. Suzuki tightens his hold, then releases Tetsuya. He gets up, pulling Tetsuya to his feet, and then bouncing him off the dresser. The edge collides with his ribs, winding him. “How badly do you want it to hurt?” Suzuki laughs at him. Without thought, he leaned back against Suzuki, his head falling back to his shoulder. One of Suzuki’s arms wraps around Tetsuya’s throat, holding him tightly. His other hand grabs the blatant bulge in the front of Tetsuya’s jeans. “Pathetic.” He bites Tetsuya’s ear again. He grabs the bottom of Tetsuya’s shirt, and drags it up over his head. A sharp slap to his stomach has Tetsuya clawing at Suzuki’s arm. Another smack. Tetsuya digs his nails into Suzuki’s arm, scratching as deeply as he can. Suzuki laughs at him again. Suzuki lets him go, and yanks the shirt off. He smacks Tetsuya’s stomach once more. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you, old man.” Tetsuya grunts. He stamps on Suzuki’s sock-clad foot, his sneakers may be old, and thin-soled, but it’s better than nothing like Suzuki. He’s once more shoved against the dresser, and forced over it, bent at his waist.

“Take your shoes off, little shit.” Suzuki smacks his back. Tetsuya has toed one shoe off before even realising he’s complying with the order. Suzuki’s hand runs over his back, almost a caress, almost gentle. “Pants.”

“Fuck you.” Tetsuya stamps on Suzuki’s other foot, and shoves him back. “Fuck you.” Suzuki smirks at him. The smirk sharpens. His normal death promising smile. The one that he wears into every fight. The one that makes Tetsuya tremble and ache inside, craving the agony that he knows Suzuki can inflict. Suzuki grabs the waist band of his jeans, and drags him close. His stare is not easy to ignore. Tetsuya manages it. He keeps his eyes on the alarm clock on the dresser by the bed. He’s spun around, and without undoing the fly, Suzuki drags his pants as low as they’ll go. They can’t pass all the way down, they get caught on his hips. Suzuki yanks again, the fabric digs into him. As good as the pain is, he needs these jeans to get to his room. “Wait.” He gropes behind him, catching a hold of Suzuki’s shoulder. “Lemme untie them.” He undoes the fly only just quickly enough for Suzuki to tug his jeans down. He pulls Tetsuya back against his chest, and grabs his cock and balls once more, this time through his underwear. He shoves Tetsuya back over the dresser. He drags Tetsuya’s underwear down and off, catching his jeans on his way down. A heavy hand presses on the back of his head, and an achingly painful smack lands on his ass. The hand on his head snatches his hair, he’s spun around, and forced to his knees. Suzuki presses Tetsuya’s face to his still covered groin. His cock is hard. He can feel it straining against Suzuki’s sweatpants. Suzuki pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock and balls. Tetsuya hesitates for a moment, and Suzuki takes his decision from him. He guides his cock between Tetsuya’s lips. Suzuki thrusts down Tetsuya’s throat, and holds his head in place, smirking at him as Tetsuya scrabbles at his thighs, trying to push him away, trying to get more air. Just on the edge of it being too much, Suzuki pulls him up. He barely gets a chance to catch his breath before Suzuki’s cock is back in his throat. He wants to pull back, but Suzuki is holding him in place. He’s no option but to wait for Suzuki to decide he’s allowed to breath properly again. Suzuki’s cock is withdrawn.

“Not enough, huh?” Suzuki is staring at him critically. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t move.” He starts moving Tetsuya’s head quickly, back and forth. He can’t help the gagging, choking noises he makes. His eyes tear up. It’s not so much that it hurts, but that’s it’s humiliating. Frantic, gasping, gargling noises escape him. Suzuki smirks at him, staring at him with a fierce heat. “This is it, hmm?” There’s a cooing edge to Suzuki’s voice. It reminds him of Hiro in the oddest way. It’s that edge of certainty that lets the playfulness that is at both of their cores shine through. Suzuki frees his dick, and throws Tetsuya to the side, letting him gasp for air. His foot is on the back of Tetsuya’s head suddenly, pressing him against the carpet, grinding him down against the floor. He catches hold of one of Tetsuya’s ankles, and applies a lock, twisting Tetsuya’s ankle the wrong way. His face is still being pressed against the floor. Tetsuya moans. Suzuki tightens his grip, raising him up, his achingly hard cock is weeping as it dangles against his stomach. Suzuki’s foot moves from his head, and kicks at his dick lazily. Tetsuya manages to turn on to his back, easing the pressure on his ankle, and letting him look at Suzuki. His cock is as hard as Tetsuya’s, precum beading at the head.

“Are you getting off on hurting me, pervert king?” Tetsuya manages to keep his voice even. He’s almost proud of himself. Suzuki twists him into some painful leg hold that he’s never endured before. His knees are screaming at him, but they’re screaming in gratitude. Every second of pain is another drop of blood rushing to his cock. Suzuki levels him with a stern look. He shakes his head, and laughs at Tetsuya. “You can laugh, old man, but your dick is as hard as mine.” Suzuki laughs again.

“You want it though, don’t you, you shit?” Suzuki wrenches against Tetsuya’s legs more, and he drives his elbow against Tetsuya’s knee. “You want every single thing I’ve done.”  Tetsuya shrugs, finally meeting his eyes easily. “You need it to hurt, Naito, it’s why you’re here.” Suzuki releases the hold, and is on top of him suddenly, a hand on his throat. “If you wanted nice and soft, you’d be with your little pet, wouldn’t you?” He squeezes tightly. “Does he suck cock well?” Suzuki shifts, straddling Tetsuya’s chest, the hand on his throat coming around to the back of his head, tilting it up. “Pretty mouth like that, he must.” He takes a hold of his own cock, and traces it over Tetsuya’s lips. “Did you teach him everything he knows about that too though?” Tetsuya opens his mouth, and sucks lightly on the head of Suzuki’s cock. “Good boy.” He mutters, feeding more of his length to Tetsuya. He settles more comfortably on Tetsuya’s chest, watching him critically. “More, all the way.” He pulls Tetsuya up further, his cock buried entirely in Tetsuya’s throat again. “Better.” Suzuki smirks, and his hand withdraws from Tetsuya’s head. “How well you do, that decides what we do next.” Suzuki is mostly resting on his legs, his body weight only slightly pressing against Tetsuya’s chest. He can’t use his hands, so the only thing he can do is move his head, and use his tongue. He’s not sure if Suzuki is looking to come down his throat, but he’s going to try to make him. He uses every ounce of skill he has when it comes to blowjobs, every little thing he’s ever taught Hiromu, all trying to bring Suzuki off. Suzuki shifts back, more of his weight resting on Tetsuya’s chest, a small noise of pleasure escaping him. A look of annoyance flickers over his face at that, and his legs squeeze Tetsuya’s chest. His head falls back, letting Suzuki’s cock fall from his mouth. The pressure on his ribcage increases. Suzuki sneers down at him. “Get back to it.” He grabs Tetsuya’s head again, dragging him back to his cock. Tetsuya takes it back into his mouth, but this time he’s entirely passive. He lets Suzuki move his head, using him as he wants. “Lazy, piece of shit.” He growls. Tetsuya rolls his eyes, and stares up at the ceiling. “Look at me.” Suzuki shifts back, and bounces Tetsuya’s head on the floor. He tries to shake his head clear, but Suzuki keeps a tight hold on his hair. His head is bounced off the floor again.

“Fuck you, old man.” Tetsuya groans, his eyes screwed shut. Suzuki shifts back, and settles over his stomach. His hand runs slowly down his chest. It rests between Tetsuya’s pectorals for a second. The smack seems to resonate around the hotel room. Suzuki’s hand rests back on his chest. Another sharp smack to his chest, and another, and another, so many that Tetsuya’s loses count. The skin of his chest is burning, his hips ache where Suzuki is resting on top of him. A low chuckle comes from Suzuki.

“Look at me” Suzuki doesn’t sound like a person, he sounds like a rumbling eldritch god, demanding attention and adulation. Tetsuya’s eyes crack open, staring at him through his eyelashes. Suzuki shifts farther back, and grabs Tetsuya’s arm, pulling him up. “It hurts?” His voice is too loud in Tetsuya’s ear. It’s low rumbling notes has a shiver running through him. “Can you take more?” His teeth scrape Tetsuya’s ear. He takes a hold of both of Tetsuya’s arms, and pulls them behind his back. “What do you want, punk?” Tetsuya doesn’t answer, and Suzuki pulls his arms back farther, wrenching them, stretching the joints in them. “Answer me.” His hand tightens around Tetsuya’s wrists. Tetsuya stares at him blankly. He’s not sure what he’s being asked.

“Fuck me.” He groans, his eyes still half-lidded. His arms being wrenched back is making his abused chest burn and ache. Suzuki smirks at him, that dangerous fight smirk. Suzuki gets to his feet, and pushes Tetsuya flat on the floor with his foot.

“Get up.” He gestures to the bed. Tetsuya drags himself to his knees, and awkwardly crawls towards the bed. Suzuki nudging him with his foot as he moves. Little annoying nudges that send him sprawling to his stomach, or rubbing his head and scowling back at Suzuki. “On your front.” Suzuki shoves him with his foot, making Tetsuya collapse against the mattress. A bottle of lube smacks against the back of his head. “Hurry up.” Tetsuya does as he’s told. The last time he was fucked was the last time he saw La Sombra, which was far too long ago now. He works quickly, certain Suzuki will get bored quickly waiting for him to stretch himself open. His certainty is right. His fingers are pulled out, and he’s filled suddenly with the entirety of Suzuki’s cock. Suzuki’s weight rests on him, pressing him down to the bed. He pulls out, and wraps an arm around Tetsuya’s throat in a tight choke. He drags Tetsuya to his knees, and fills him again. The arm around his throat is tight, barely any air is getting through to his lungs. Suzuki is fucking him with heavy determination. Deep, firm thrusts that forces the little air he has out of him in shallow huffs. His vision is swimming, his body feels weak. The arm around his neck relaxes, and he takes several deep, gasping breaths around the powerful thrusts into him. Suzuki laughs at him; his teeth scrape along Tetsuya’s shoulder. “Good boy.” He laughs, and wraps his arm around Tetsuya’s throat again. Suzuki once more fucks him with slow deliberate strokes, his arm tight around Tetsuya’s throat. This time he doesn’t relent, he speeds up, his arm relaxing a little randomly, letting Tetsuya snatch breaths. “Touch yourself.” His voice makes it clear he’s close. Tetsuya starts stroking his cock, his movements are sluggishly weak. Without enough air, he feels like he’s floating almost. Suzuki comes with a noise that’s half snarl, half growl. His cum inside Tetsuya feels hot, and as soon as Suzuki pulls out, he can feel it leaking it out of him. Suzuki flips him over, and grabs his cock. His grip is on the edge of too tight, and too dry to be good, but it is, it’s perfect. Suzuki is staring at him, that vicious smirk on his lips, an inferno in his gaze. He makes what has to be the most pitiful noise of his life, his body is screaming at him, his joints ache, his chest is burning, his ass is stretched and painful, and all he wants is to cum. He needs this encounter to end. Suzuki’s other hand gently touches his chest, then skims down to his knee. His elbow drives down against it. The pain jolts through him, and his orgasm tears through him.

He comes back to himself slowly, almost in time with a soft cloth that’s running over his chest. He reaches out to bat at the hand moving the cloth. He wants to sleep, but he can’t sleep here, not with Suzuki.

“Oi, it’s okay. Lie still.” Suzuki isn’t looking at him properly, he’s focussed on something else, probably the cloth in his hand. “Lie still, Naito.” He mutters, it’s tinged with something mild. It’s not soft, it’s certainly not kind, but it is mild. He finishes cleaning Tetsuya’s chest, and skims it down over his groin and thigh, finally over his asshole. “Your pet is coming to collect you.” Suzuki gets off the bed, tucking his cock back into his pants.

“He’s not my pet.” Tetsuya moans as he sits up, ignoring the pain in his ass. Suzuki pours himself a glass of what Tetsuya can now see is whisky.

“As you say.” He sips at the glass, and retakes his seat under the lamp. “Get dressed.” Tetsuya casts his gaze around the room, no idea where to expect his clothes to be. Suzuki had pulled them off haphazardly before he’d forced him to his knees. They’re in a neat pile on the dresser near the bed. “Tell him that he should be careful if he’s planning on collecting a set…Archer will eat him alive.” Tetsuya shrugs. Hiromu is more than capable of looking after himself. His body is singing with pain. Every little thing about him hurts, but it’s a good hurt, the soul deep hurt he’s needed for a long time. The knock on the door is tentative and quick. Suzuki opens the door just enough to pull the person on the other side through. He’s got a handful of Hiro’s hair, which seems to be the preferred grabbing spot of most people. Hiro’s scratching at Suzuki’s hand, kicking at him, and hissing. “This is more my type.” He levels Tetsuya with an amused look. Tetsuya shrugs dismissively, continuing to get dressed. “How about we skip up your to-do list, little pet?” Suzuki drags Hiromu by the hair to the dresser, forces him to sit up on it, and stands between his splayed legs. His body blocks Tetsuya’s view, but doesn’t stop the uncertain emotions in him. He’s not sure if he’s jealous or annoyed. People really should treat Hiro more carefully, but he does need a good smack. “Skip the others, and I’ll fuck you here.”

“You wouldn’t be able to get it hard twice in one night, old man.” Tetsuya throws a pillow from the bed at Suzuki’s head. Suzuki doesn’t react other than leaning in closer to Hiro. “Once took long enough.” Suzuki makes a very short sound of surprise, and pulls back from Hiromu quickly. There’s a little blood on his bottom lip. Tetsuya should remember Hiro can defend himself.

“You need to train that thing better.” He jerks his chin back at Hiro, and retakes his seat. Hiro hops off the dresser, and bounds over to Tetsuya, leaping at him, and sending them both crashing back against the bed.

“Did you have fun?” He’s grinning like he doesn’t have a tinge of Suzuki’s blood on his lips. He really has done a terrible job of training Hiro. He’s nowhere near sane, and has a terrible concept of boundaries and social interactions. The pillow Tetsuya had thrown at Suzuki bounces off the back of Hiro’s head.

“Get out.” Suzuki isn’t looking at them. He’s staring pointedly at the door. Tetsuya purposefully pulls Hiromu down into a kiss, one hand in Hiro’s hair, the other grabbing his ass. The old creep can get out or off if he wants, but Tetsuya is going to treat his little student as kindly as he deserves.

“Ow!” Hiro bites him, and darts away quickly as though he’d stolen Tetsuya’s hat, comically leaping away from Suzuki when he realises he’d darted too close to him for comfort.

“I’ve better things to do than tuck you in, Naito.” His voice is quick and melodic. He’s got someone, somewhere, to fuck. Tetsuya can only hope it’s not another member of Suzuki Gun. They don’t need more dealings with them

“Train that thing better.” Suzuki drains his glass, setting it down on the table near his chair with a bang. “Or I will.” He smiles at Hiro, one that’s all teeth, and viciousness. Hiro smiles back at him, all indulgent warmth, and soft promises. Suzuki snorts dismissively, but doesn’t look away. Tetsuya gets up, and stuffs his feet in his shoes.

“C’mon you.” His hands rests on Hiromu’s neck, squeezing lightly. He can feel Suzuki watching him.

“Oi! Pervert!” Tetsuya glances back at him, and Suzuki throws him his phone. On the screen is a number typed into it. He hits dial. Suzuki answers his phone. Tetsuya sticks his phone in his pocket, trusting Suzuki to hang up, and shoves Hiro out of the hotel room door.

“Later, old man.” Tetsuya waves over his shoulder, and catches Hiromu by the neck again, following him down the corridor, towards the elevator. He’s looking forward to going to the shower, and then getting some sleep, but first he might try talking some sense into Hiro. He needs to be told to stay away from Suzuki Gun more ardently, because that look Suzuki shot him was a little too interested, and Tetsuya doesn’t like sharing, not even with his little student.


	2. Challenging the Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resisting the screaming needs of his body is a terrible idea. Accepting Suzuki's offer is possibly a worse one.

_Content?_

He’d not expected a message from Suzuki. Since their first night they’ve been in the ring a couple of times. Every time Tetsuya is in position to have Suzuki’s hands on him, his body screams at him. It wants the pain. It craves it. But, Tetsuya hasn’t caved and contacted him again. He possibly should. He’s getting itchy again. His body is beginning to crave the pain beyond in matches, it needs another night of agony. Suzuki’s message is a surprise, and he wonders if Hiromu had something to do with it. He doesn’t like the idea of Hiromu making another deal with Taichi. He doesn’t like not knowing what the exact terms of the original deal were. He knows it involved Hiro spending the majority of a night with someone from Suzuki’s army, but he doesn’t know who. He has suspicions, but he’s not asked Hiro. It seems like it would undermine the sacrifice Hiromu made for him. His little student works so hard for his benefit in ways that so few people ever see, to question him on this would be disrespectful.

_Content?_

It’s an odd message. So innocuous, so innocent, so minor. He’s not content. His body’s need for pain is making things difficult. Hiro’s worried, hovering nervously, watching cautiously. He doesn’t like the way his little student becomes subdued when he’s concerned. It’s not like Hiro, and all it does is make Tetsuya worry. It’s effecting Bushi almost as much. The team’s glue has noticed something is wrong between Hiro and Tetsuya. He’s watching, ready to interfere, probably on Hiro’s behalf because they’re a tag-team, and over the time they’ve spent together, Bushi has become very fond of his littlest brother. Evil and Sanada seem to be either unaware, or too involved in their own battles to be concerned with the problems of the others, but the moment Bushi gets involved, they’ll follow. If something has escalated to involve Bushi, either or both Evil and Sanada will be there to ensure Bushi’s will is done.

_Content?_

He’s not. He should reply. He should say no. He should tell Suzuki that he needs another night of abuse. He needs pulled in a thousand different ways. He needs fucked hard and fast. He needs to hurt. He _needs_ it. He can’t think of a good reply. Something simple, something complex, _something_.

That night they’re in the ring again. Suzuki goes after Hiro. It’s a taunt. He knows that. It’s unfair to drag Hiromu into this, but he is the biggest weapon Suzuki wields against Tetsuya. There is nothing surer to get Tetsuya’s attention than harming Hiromu. Suzuki gives him that lecherous grin the minute Tetsuya saves Hiro. As Tetsuya presses Suzuki’s face to the canvas with his foot, the old bastard is still grinning up at him.

“Let me train it.” Suzuki’s eyes flicker over to Hiromu carefully rolling away from them. Suzuki’s tongue lolls out, as he raises to his feet, grabbing Tetsuya’s ankle, forcing Tetsuya to his back. The pain from his twisted ankle sings through him, drowning out whatever it is Suzuki is saying. A sharp wrench on his ankle snaps his attention back to the sneering asshole. “No-one’s trained you either, you piece of shit.”

“Fuck you, your majesty.” Tetsuya laughs at him. His laugh fades in to a pained groan as Suzuki twists his ankle further around. It feels like he’s trying to unscrew Tetsuya’s foot like it was the lid of a soda bottle. Someone kicks Suzuki, earning Tetsuya a moments reprieve. The rest of the match he spends trying to get Suzuki’s attention. The bastard ignores him. He’ll engage with anyone, but Tetsuya. He goads, and smirks, and taunts, but Suzuki ignores him. After the match Naito avoids the locker room. He’s not in the mood for concerned looks from Hiro _and_ Bushi. He takes a walk, a hobble more accurately. His knee is aching. He should rest it, but he needs to move. He feels itchy, like there’s worms under his skin.

“Oi, pervert!” Suzuki calls out to him, and suddenly he collides with a wall. Suzuki’s arm is over the back of his neck, pressing his face against the wall. “You never answered my question.”

“What question?” Tetsuya sighs, rolling his eyes. He’s sure he sounds bored. His body is singing though. Suzuki drives his elbow into his spine, laughs in his ear, and kicks the back of Tetsuya’s worst knee.

“What question.” Suzuki scoffs. Another kick to the other knee. Tetsuya’s being held up solely by Suzuki’s arm on his neck. “Your pet looks sulky.” Tetsuya takes a deep breath, attempting to tamp down the urge to defend Hiromu. “I could take care of it.” Suzuki laughs in his ear, and bites the lobe firmly, laughing harder when Tetsuya slams his head back into his nose. “Answer my question, pervert.”

“Fucking delighted.” Naito drives his elbow into Suzuki’s gut. Suzuki takes a handful of his hair, and bangs his head on the wall. The taste of blood fills Tetsuya’s mouth. He’d bitten his tongue. He elbows Suzuki again, and slips free from Suzuki’s hold, aiming a spit at him, the blood and saliva bright on his back. He leaves before Suzuki can grab him again.

He heads back to the locker room, and enters a room heavy with silence. Evil looks up at him. His expression is closed, but intense. He’s not happy. He’s also the only other person in the room.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Evil leans back against the wall. He seems ready to leave, and by the look of things the others were too, but something made them leave their packed bags alone with Evil.

“Do I?” Tetsuya laughs. Evil looks at him blankly. Bushi has raised Evil far better than Tetsuya ever would have, all his deflection gets is that blank look.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Evil strokes his beard, watching Tetsuya with a weight he isn’t comfortable with. He doesn’t answer, he raises an eyebrow, and starts collecting what he needs for a shower. Evil shifts on the bench. “You’ve been…what’s wrong?” Evil, King of Darkness, falls away leaving Evil, Tetsuya’s little brother. He looks desperate for some answers to his question. The answers are none of his business. What’s wrong with him is his business, and probably Hiro’s. He drags Hiromu into his messes quite by accident far too often. The reverse is also true, so it’s probably fair. “You’re not yourself, Naito.” Evil sits on the edge of the bench, looking as young and as earnest as the first time he met him as a young lion. It could have been him instead of Hiromu. It was chance that had drawn him to Hiromu, and not Evil. It’s a lie. He knows that. Evil never called out to him like Hiromu did. Hiro needed him, Evil didn’t. Quickly, Hiro’s need for Tetsuya became mutual. He needed his little student’s attention, his praise, his enthusiasm, his odd little observations, and rambling thoughts, his quick tongue, his warm body, his soft lips. Hiromu became an obsession, something Tetsuya is miserably prone to, a habit he has unfortunately passed on to Hiro.

“I’m okay.” He glances over at Evil, and forces a smile to his lips. Evil looks dubious. “Where is everyone else?” Evil sighs, and rests his elbows on his knees. He looks up at Tetsuya, pleading hope blatant on his face. He doesn’t believe Tetsuya, and honestly, he wouldn’t believe himself. “This feud is getting to me a little, I guess.” Relief floods Evil’s face. A simple problem, one they can address by beating Suzuki and his army. A problem Evil can fix.  

“Tell that to Bushi, please.” A tentative smile on his face. “He’s tried asking Hiro, but you know…” A weighty, accusing look. Hiromu won’t betray Tetsuya’s trust, which is probably a terrible thing for them both.

“I’ll talk to Bushi.” He promises, and Evil gives him a tight nod. He gets to his feet, and claps Tetsuya on the shoulder.

“Bushi will be back. Hiro is missing. Sanada is already at the bar.” With that Evil leaves. Tetsuya slumps to the bench, with a soft curse. The cravings of his treacherous body are tearing his family apart. He should have let Suzuki fuck him up in that corridor. His hands slide into his hair, yanking on it. He’s a mess. A pathetic mess of a man that needs to be punished for his own wretchedness.

_Content?_

_No. When and where?_

He needs Suzuki’s dubious attentions again. Bushi enters the locker room before Suzuki replies. He looks exhausted. He collapses on the bench opposite Tetsuya, and throws his mask at him. Tetsuya lets it smack him in the face. He deserves it.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” One of Bushi’s arm covers smack against his face next. “You’ve got Hiro wound up enough that he’s off getting drunk with the enemy.”

“What?” Tetsuya is on his feet before Bushi’s finished talking.

“Sit.” Bushi throws the other arm cover at him. “Sanada is keeping an eye on him, and hasn’t he already fucked Taichi?” Bushi scowls at him, and starts unlacing his boots. Tetsuya considers clearing out before he gets a boot to the face. He deserves one, but he doesn’t want it, not from Bushi at least. “I will ask again, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m just…” He scrubs a hand over his face. He should tell Bushi the truth, but it’s not something he wants to share. It’s bad enough that Suzuki knows what he wants. He can’t bear the idea of letting Bushi know too. Hiro doesn’t count, he knows everything about Tetsuya.

“Suzuki getting under your skin?” Bushi gives him a lazy smile, and kicks his boot off. It hits Tetsuya’s shin. He hobbles over with one boot on, and sits down heavily beside him. His arm flops over Tetsuya’s shoulders, and pulls him over to lean against Bushi’s shoulder. “We’ve got your back, asshole.” Bushi squeezes his shoulder. “Let us help you…fuck, if you won’t let _us_ help you, let Hiro…I need him focussed if we’re gonna win our belts, not half panicked by your dumbass.” Bushi lets him go, and smacks him on the back of his head. He’s already let Hiro help, or at least Hiro helped him on his own initiative, and Tetsuya has been ignoring the very real helpline Hiromu arranged for him.

“Noted.” Tetsuya laughs, and heads to the shower with Bushi. When he’s out, there’s a message on his phone.

_613 now_

He bows his head with a sigh, and rubs a hand over his face. He needs this. As pitiful as it is, he _needs_ this. He needs the pain that Suzuki will cause him. He needs to reset his stupid body and his foolish mind, and the agony the pervert king will give him will do that for him. He’ll be better like he was after the last time.

He doesn’t want to knock on the door, it feels too much like going to see the headmaster when he was a child, but he’s little choice in the matter. He doesn’t have a key to this room, and only Suzuki’s word that he’s in there. His eyes fall closed, he takes a deep breath, and knocks once. The door opens. Suzuki grabs him by the throat, and pulls him into the room.

“I’m not surprised to see you, shit.” Suzuki’s hand tightens around his throat. Tetsuya rolls his eyes, and stares up at the ceiling.

“You invited me, pervert king.” Suzuki sneers at him, and shoves him backwards by the throat. His back collides with the chest of drawers, the handles digging into his spine uncomfortably. Suzuki’s lips quirk into a smile. Tetsuya steps away from the chest of drawers, and Suzuki kicks him back against it again. It rattles, and the bottle of whisky on top of it falls to the floor. Suzuki shakes his head.

“Pick it up.” He growls. Tetsuya kicks the bottle over to Suzuki. Suzuki stoops to pick the bottle up. He unscrews the lid, and takes a long drink. He shakes the bottle, swirling the whisky inside it around. Tetsuya moves away from the dresser. The handles driving into his spine were uncomfortable, and not in the good way. Suzuki takes another drink, and holds the bottle out to him. “Drink, pervert.” Tetsuya doesn’t like whisky. Suzuki grabs his hair, and pulls his head back. “Drink.” The whisky burns down his throat, and sits horribly in his stomach. Suzuki tosses him to the floor, and swigs from the bottle again. He kicks absently at Tetsuya, keeping him on the ground, his eyes narrowed, his lips pressed together thin. Tetsuya props himself up a little, watching the old bastard. “Look at you, pervert…fucking pathetic.” He laughs, cold and harsh. “Fucking pathetic.” He mutters, but it seems like it was more to himself than Tetsuya. His sock clad foot rests on Tetsuya’s chest, pinning him down. Suzuki takes another drink, screws the cap back on, and drops the bottle on Tetsuya’s groin.

“Look at me? Look at you, old man.” Tetsuya laughs at him, hoping he didn’t wince when the bottle collided with his balls. “Maudlin, piece of shit.” Tetsuya grabs Suzuki’s ankle, and applies an ankle lock, twisting his foot the wrong way. Suzuki laughs at him, watching him like he was a moth on the other side of the window, a hint of distaste mixed with his amusement. “Fuck you, bastard.” Tetsuya drops his hold on Suzuki’s ankle. Suzuki watches him thoughtfully as Tetsuya stands up, and heads for the door. He hesitates, uncertain what he’s going to do. Suzuki is in a strange mood, morose and drunk, and apparently not capable of fulfilling Tetsuya’s needs, but still he hesitates to leave the room. Suzuki laughs at him.

“Leave now, pervert, and I won’t let you back in.” He needs the pain that Suzuki can give him. He needs it to bring him to himself. Tetsuya bangs his forehead against the door. Suzuki laughs again, low and dark. “Go on, pervert, leave.” The lid of the whisky bottle bounces off the back of his head. “Taichi is entertaining your pet, so I’m sure he’ll bring it to me.” Throwing a kick at Suzuki’s face was at once a wonderful and terrible idea. Suzuki drags him to the floor, and slaps some agonising hold on his leg, wrenching it in deep. “It’s a pretty thing, that pet of yours. Pretty, but spoiled…I could discipline it for you.” Tetsuya snarls at him, with his free leg he starts kicking at Suzuki’s arms. Suzuki catches that leg in the hold too, twisting Tetsuya’s knees the wrong way. The pain drags a scream from Tetsuya. Suzuki wrenches the hold in further. “Is it a good fuck?” Suzuki smirks at him, not reacting to the failing scratches and strikes Tetsuya aims at his arms. Another wrench, more pain, more of himself seeping back in with agony. Suzuki releases the hold, and gets to his feet slowly. He grabs his whisky again, drinking more. He tilts the bottle towards Tetsuya. He wants nothing to do with that bottle. He doesn’t like whisky. Suzuki drains more of the bottle, and sets it back on the dresser. He sits on the chair in the corner of the room, watching Tetsuya. His eyes narrow. “Bring me my whisky.” There’s an edge to his voice, sharp like knives, hard like diamonds, cold like ice. Tetsuya stretches out on his back, straightening his legs, extending his knees. The ceiling has a strange stain from one corner to the light fitting. He tucks his arms under his head, and waits to see if Suzuki will shake himself out of this mood, and back into what Tetsuya wants from him. Something lands on his stomach. He doesn’t bother looking to see what Suzuki threw at him. He twists his body, the quiet thud of whatever it was falling to the floor seems painfully loud.

“Get your own whisky.” He doesn’t bother to look at Suzuki. He almost doesn’t care. He probably should either force Suzuki to be as he wants, or leave. Leaving is probably the best thing for him to do. This feels different to the last time, probably because he’s come here sober. The last time he was drunk enough to not have reservations. The whisky bottle is vaguely in his vision. With as little movement as possible he reaches up, grabs the bottle, and drinks as much of it as he can handle in one go. Nothing on Suzuki, but enough for his stomach to turn, and him to feel sixteen and like he was drinking alcohol in a park with his high school friends again.

“Bring it to me.” That danger tipped voice again. Suzuki’s voice is low, quiet and menacing. Tetsuya can feel the weight of his stare, heavy, suffocating, a comforter in a heatwave. He takes another drink of whisky, rolling the bottle, judging the amount left in it. Three more swigs. If he can stomach it, he will. Suzuki is across room, and plants a foot onto Tetsuya’s chest. He presses down, pinning Tetsuya to the floor. He grabs the bottle, drains it, and drops the bottle on Tetsuya’s stomach. “Why the fuck are you here, shit?” Tetsuya picks the bottle up, turns it around in his hands, ignoring the pressure of Suzuki’s foot on his chest. He considers smacking Suzuki in the ankle with the bottle, but instead he tosses it to the side. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Suzuki stares down at him. Suzuki’s foot moves back and forth on his chest, a roiling weight that feels like it’s suppressing his lung capacity. “What a fucking mess you are, you piece of shit…fucking mess.” He sounds distracted, his mind somewhere else. He lifts his foot, and aims a surprisingly sharp kick, for an un-shoed foot, to his ribs. It’s quickly followed by another. Suzuki looks at him with a curled lip.

“I’d be offended, if I gave a shit.” Tetsuya stretches his arms out, trying to ignore the pain in his side. It’s not the pain he’s after. The ache of Suzuki’s holds is very different to this sharp striking agony. Suzuki sits back on the chair. “Why the fuck _am_ I here, your highness?” Tetsuya sits up, his back against the dresser. It feels like an important question. Suzuki invited him here, and he knows exactly what Tetsuya would want from him, and to Tetsuya what Suzuki wants from him is obvious, but maybe the pervert king is too ashamed to admit he likes having someone who enjoys his work at his disposal. Suzuki sneers, and doesn’t answer. Tetsuya forces himself to his feet. He strides across the room, and kicks out at Suzuki. His leg is caught in a painful hold. His knee is wrenched the wrong way, and the right kind of pain flows through him. Suzuki pulls him sharply to the side. His head, and shoulder collide with the wall. Suzuki laughs at him. The hold on his leg tightens, leaving him in an awkward, painful sprawl over Suzuki’s lap. The old bastard changes how he’s twisting Tetsuya’s leg, pulling the other leg into something that leaves Tetsuya dangling from the chair, his head almost on the floor. One of Suzuki’s feet kicks at Tetsuya’s head. Small taps that are neither hard, nor weak, somewhere on the cusp of both. Suzuki shoves him to the floor suddenly. Tetsuya can’t keep the stupid laugh from escaping him. He’d felt Suzuki’s hardening cock against his calf. The whole situation is ridiculous. Suzuki knows what this is, being ashamed is pointless. “Fuck you, old man.” He stares up at the ceiling, laughing to himself. “Fucking _pervert_ asshole.” Suzuki stamps on his knee. He grabs his ankle, his hand tight around it, squeezing the bones together. A sudden wrench, a flood of agony, a resentfully given grunt of pain. Suzuki yanks Tetsuya’s shoe off, and tosses it down at his face. He’s not sure what Suzuki’s going to do. “Oww!” The last thing he’d expected was Suzuki to try to dislocate his toe, but that’s what it feels like he’s done. Suzuki laughs at him, his sock smacks him in the face. Another snapping pain on a different toe. “Fuck!” Suzuki laughs at him again.

“Even a little thing can be painful, pervert.” The next toe along is assaulted. Worse than the pain, is the light, teasing caress over the sole of Tetsuya’s foot. He’s ticklish. The only other person in the world who knows that is Hiro. Over the years, he’s spent hours cackling, and vaguely kicking at Hiromu to stop him from attacking his feet with teasing touches, and soft breaths, which are worse than the touches, because they’re intangible and stopping them with kicks might actually hurt Hiro, which Tetsuya is against doing on purpose. He keeps a straight face, ignoring the light touches to the arch of his foot, but it’s hard. He is very ticklish.

“Oww!” No amount of ignoring works on whatever it is Suzuki does to his toe though. Suzuki laughs at him again. The ankle-lock he applies seems almost tender after the sudden spikes of pain from Tetsuya’s toes. The wrench on his knee is unexpected, painful, and glorious. Suzuki smirks at him, and kicks at him. His foot rubs over Tetsuya’s groin, his toes wriggling over the lump of his cock and balls. Suzuki shoves him back with a foot to his chest. He follows slowly, and locks Tetsuya in some awkward full body hold. His back screams, his ribs scream, his whole body screeches in relief. Suzuki’s forearm is pressed against his groin, moving against him, making his cock harden. Suzuki wrenches him further the wrong way, his cock hardens a little more. The hold shifts, less focussed on his spine, more on his limbs. His joints ache, a sharp, scraping ache. Suzuki changes the hold again, focussing on his knees. The pain is agonising. If Suzuki breaks this hold out in the ring, he’d tap to spare him this pain, and erection, in public. He starts scratching at the back of Suzuki’s arms, trying to break the hold. It’s too much, his cock is stupidly hard. It feels like he could cum from this alone. Suzuki releases him, and kicks him away. Tetsuya rolls like he was in the ring to the middle of the room, and lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Suzuki kicks at his ankle, then the knee, then at his groin, then back down. His foot rests on Tetsuya’s ankle, rolling it from side to side. He’s staring down at him, but Tetsuya is staring at the ceiling stain again. Being ignored always riles Suzuki, and this is no exception. His heel crashes into Tetsuya’s knee angrily. Tetsuya responds solely with a yawn. Another heel to his knee. No reaction.

“Oi, pervert.” Suzuki stands between his splayed legs, the toes of one foot wriggling near the apex of Tetsuya’s legs, nudging his balls. “Pervert.” Beneath the sneer is that sing-song lilt that had surfaced last time, the tone that upon reflection had unnerved Tetsuya because it reminded him of Hiromu. He doesn’t want there to be anything similar in the two of them. He worries there might be. “How pathetic it is to be so excited by this.” Suzuki’s heel grinds down on his cock, mashing the zipper against it. He almost regrets not wearing underwear. “This is why you’re here isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Tetsuya is far too proud of how condescending he sounds. “Am I here for you to get off on beating me up?” He meets Suzuki’s eyes slowly, letting his gaze linger over the obvious protrusion from at Suzuki’s groin. He’s as turned on by this as Tetsuya is, there’s no denying that. Suzuki stamps on his knee again, and hauls him to his feet, locking him in some gloriously awful choke. He can’t breathe. His hands scrabble at Suzuki’s arms. His vision greys. Then, Suzuki throws him at the bed. He pulls Tetsuya down until his knees colliding with the ground. He kicks Tetsuya’s legs apart. He’s gone for a moment, a moment Tetsuya uses to open his fly, and loosen his pants, not pulling them down, but making sure that when they are, they won’t catch on anything. If he’s learnt one thing from their first encounter, Suzuki wears sweatpants too much, and forgets that flies need undone. His jeans are yanked down to his knees. A cold finger smears over his hole, spreading lube. A moment later, it drives inside him, thrusting in and out. A second finger is added suddenly. He sucks air in through his teeth at the unexpected wider intrusion. Suzuki smacks his still covered back. A hard, fierce blow that robs Tetsuya of his breath. Suzuki pulls his fingers free, and smacks his back again. Without any more preparation, Suzuki thrusts into him, earning a gasp from Tetsuya. Suzuki fucks him hard and fast. His hands digging into Tetsuya’s hips, pulling him back into each thrust. He keeps his head bowed, his joints hurt. This encounter has taken its toll on him. He feels battered, and close to submitting. Suzuki presses down against him suddenly, forcing him flat to the bed, fucking down into him hard and fast. Harsh breaths and low, pleasure tinged grunts trickle into Tetsuya’s ear. His hands scratch at the bed, clawing for something. He’s not sure what, it might be to escape, it might be so he can claim some control for himself. He’s not sure. Suzuki pulls out of him. His cum trickles out, down Tetsuya’s thigh.

“Cum.” Suzuki snarls in his ear, pulling his hips up, and grabbing his cock. “Cum, you piece of shit.” His hand is dry and tight, dragging the skin of his cock, the heel of his hind rubbing over the head of Tetsuya’s cock, smearing his pre-cum, lubricating Suzuki’s grip. “Cum, Naito.” His body complies with Suzuki’s orders. “Good boy.” A low, smug purr into Tetsuya’s ear. “Now,” Suzuki gets off the bed, and wanders over to his luggage, “get the fuck out.” He pulls another bottle of whisky out of it. The cap bounces off the side of Tetsuya’s head. He gets off the bed, pulling his pants up into place.

“Drink less, your majesty.” Tetsuya throws the comment out casually, but he means it. Suzuki throws something at Tetsuya. He misses.

“Fuck off.” Suzuki growls, and Tetsuya does as he’s told. He’s not sure if he’s satisfied. He’s cum, he’s been stretched and abused, but he’s not himself, or maybe Suzuki wasn’t himself. It’s not as good as it was the first time. It was good, but strangely unsatisfying.

The trip to his hotel room is quick, he’s only one floor down. The room is empty, unsurprising really. He rooms with Hiro as a rule, and Hiro is prone to coming back late. He’s probably fucking or being fucked by someone. He doesn’t want to think too hard about who that person might be. He has suspicions, but he’s not going to think too hard on it. So long as it’s not Taichi as Suzuki implied, even the sprinkler-foreigner would be better than Taichi. He showers quickly, and collapses back against the bed. He twists, and turns trying to make himself comfortable, but can’t seem to find the right way to lie so he’s comfortable. His visit with Suzuki didn’t pay off the way he was hoping. He feels better, but not himself.

An hour of tossing and turning, Hiro settles in bed beside him, his head on Tetsuya’s shoulder. Tetsuya slips his arm under Hiro’s neck, and tangles his hand in Hiro’s hair. Hiro moans softly, nuzzling against him. His hand rests on Tetsuya’s chest, his fingers massaging it lazily.

“I’m tired.” He murmurs. His voice is wispy, like the whisper of wind through grass at the side of a river. He should take Hiro fishing one day. He can’t see Hiro enjoying the actual fishing part, but the sitting in nature, surrounded by silence he would like. He can be tranquilly peaceful when given the opportunity. They’d probably catch nothing, but it would be nice to spend some time away from hotel rooms and wrestling rings.

“We should go fishing.” His hand shifts through Hiro’s hair. He makes a soft enquiring noise, and Tetsuya hushes him. “Tomorrow.” He mutters, pressing a quick kiss to Hiro’s forehead, pulling him a little closer, holding his protégé a little tighter, and sinking easily into sleep.

Another night. Another match. Another almost embarrassing reaction to a beating from Suzuki. He should wear tighter underwear or not ignored the cock cage Hiro had gifted him. He’d gotten a stern look, and a bop on the nose for that. Anyone else, he’d have punched them, but Hiromu gets away with things no-one else would think to try.

He’d ducked out of going straight back to the locker room. There’s a strange vibe in there at the moment. Bushi is no longer happy with his _Suzuki is under my skin_ excuse, which means Evil isn’t either, and Sanada, serenely statuesque Sanada, has noticed. Hiro is generally not there. He’s generally with Taichi of all people. He’s been approached by more people than generally have the courage to speak to him, all of them asking what was going on. Even Kota, a man so divinely removed from most things, not explicitly related to Kenny-could give Taichi a run for his money in terms of being awful-Omega, had asked him if everything was okay. It’s easy, but shameful, to lie to Ibushi. He’ll accept your lie, because he’s hopeful of your good nature, but he’ll look disappointed. He’d left Naito’s company looking drunk. Drunk was easier to deal with than disappointed.

He hobbles around the back corridors of the arena, hoping to find a sliver of himself in the solitude, or to bump into Taichi. The urge to punch the man is raising. It’s possibly something like an obsession, his need to bury his fist in Taichi’s disdainful expression.

“Are you looking for a quiet place to jerk off, pervert.” Suzuki’s voice is a sudden, and almost welcome interruption to his thoughts of Taichi. “If you’d train that pet of yours better, it would be there to its job.” He knows that Suzuki is goading him. He knows he is, but he can’t help but react to it. A forearm to the face wasn’t what Suzuki was expecting. He almost looks surprised by the trickle of blood that comes from his nose. He touches it gently, and wipes the blood on Tetsuya’s chest. “It really is a soft spot for you isn’t it.” Suzuki laughs at him, and shoves him against the wall. It wasn’t a question, it was a cold observation of fact. Hiromu is Tetsuya’s soft underbelly, and he knows that. It’s ridiculous how easily he’s goaded by attacks on Hiro. Suzuki grabs a handful of his hair, and bangs his head against the wall. His fingers come away tinged with blood, which is wiped alongside Suzuki’s on Tetsuya’s chest. His hand trails down Tetsuya’s stomach, and slides under the waist band of his trunks. His hand grabs Tetsuya’s cock, squeezing him tightly. He leans in closely, his mouth at Tetsuya’s ear. He starts stroking Tetsuya, his grip still too tight, and too dry. His breathing catches, his head falls back, his eyes close. Suzuki pulls his hand free, and knees him in the gut. Tetsuya doubles over, gasping. Suzuki pushes his head back against the wall. Suzuki grabs his arm. A simple arm bar, wrenching on his elbow, his shoulder, his wrist, his arm in general. He sets the hold in deeper, stretching, wrenching on his arm. He releases the hold with a shove towards the wall. Tetsuya’s back strikes it hard. Suzuki kicks at his knee, knocking him down. His booted foot rubs over Tetsuya’s groin. “Get up, pervert.” Suzuki’s foot toes at the obvious lump in Tetsuya’s trunks. Tetsuya starts getting up, but then flops to the ground before Suzuki kicks him over. Suzuki nudges his prone body with the toe of his boot. “Get up.” Tetsuya smirks at him, spreads his legs just a little, making the bulge in trunks more obvious. Suzuki kicks his knee, knocking it against the wall. “Look at you…legs spread, cock hard…like a fucking bitch in heat.” Suzuki’s lips curls. Tetsuya jerks his chin up, a grin on his lips. The old bastard’s disgust is blatant, and instead of anything like the shame Suzuki is hoping to inspire in him, Tetsuya feels smug. There’s something about knowing the pervert wants to fuck him, wants to hurt him, to use him as much Tetsuya wants those things from him, but unlike Tetsuya, Suzuki won’t admit it to himself. He wants Tetsuya, but he denies it. “Oi, pervert, what am I supposed to do with you?” Suzuki folds his arms, his head tilted to one side slightly. Tetsuya doesn’t react. He lies there with his grin, his bloodied chest, and his tented trunks. “Look at you…no fucking shame, eh pervert?” Suzuki laughs at him. Tetsuya keeps his eyes locked on Suzuki’s, his eyebrows raised in mock offence.

“Shame?” Tetsuya stretches, and reaching his arms up as high as he can. “Why the fuck should I be ashamed?” Suzuki looks like he’s going to kill him, something vicious and cold in his eyes. Tetsuya laughs at him, and sits up to lean against the cold concrete wall. At this section of the wall, it’s only been painted white, the surface is rough, sharp, jagged pieces of concrete dig into his bare back, but it does cool his heated skin. Suzuki’s expression is nothing more than murder. His foot connects with Tetsuya’s chest, his head bounces off the wall. He’s sure there’s more of his blood smeared behind him. A stupid laugh bubbles up his throat, it seems to do nothing more than annoy Suzuki even more. He bangs Tetsuya’s head off the wall again. He laughs even harder. The third time Suzuki hits his head off the wall, his vision swims a little. He feels oddly floaty, but is brought back to his situation by Suzuki twisting his leg in a hold he can’t name, or counter, but will endure because the pain is exquisite. He makes a noise, a wanton, needy noise that seems to infuriate Suzuki. He growls as he forces Tetsuya’s body into a different, more painful hold. His mind feels fizzy. Suzuki stretches him, bending his back the wrong way. The pain draws more whining, keening noises from him. He’s too scattered, and pained to stop the desperate noises leaving him. His arm wraps around Tetsuya’s throat, cutting his breath to pained gasps. His mind drifts, fuzzy and vague. Thoughts of wind in reeds, frogs croaking, crickets singing, and Hiromu’s hair between his fingers. Thoughts that are nothing to do with his current his situation.

“You need this don’t you, pervert?” Suzuki sneers in his ear. He stands, dragging Tetsuya to his feet, pressing him against the wall. His forehead collides with the wall sharply. The pain has him keening softly, staring at the speckling of his blood on the wall. Suzuki is talking to him, but he can’t hear. His head is ringing, and all he can think of is how his blood is the same colour as the red in Hiro’s hair. A sharp sting of pain to his earlobe. “Listen, pervert.” Suzuki smacks something against his cheek. A lube bottle. He almost wants to laugh at Suzuki having lube in his pocket, but he’s grateful. Suzuki yanks Tetsuya trunks down, and thrusts a slicked finger into him, a second enters him quickly. They scissor, they prod, they press against the walls of Tetsuya’s ass, stretching him open. Suzuki thrusts into him the moment he pulls his fingers out, wiping them on Tetsuya’s back. He fucks as hard and as fast as normal, but he still seems annoyed by the moans that escape Tetsuya. He can’t help it though. Even now his head is still feels full of cotton candy. Suzuki’s hand moves from his hip to his hair. He’s not surprised when his forehead is bounced off the wall. Suzuki’s arm wraps around his throat again, not squeezing just resting there, holding his head back. “You need me to hurt you like this, don’t you?” Suzuki murmurs in his ear. Tetsuya’s eyes flutter, his head aching, his mind unfocussed, his body moving with Suzuki’s thrusts. Suzuki’s other hand gropes down Tetsuya’s body. He grabs Tetsuya’s cock, squeezing his blatant erection. He moans pitifully. Suzuki pulls out, and spins Tetsuya around. His trunks are horribly in the way, but Suzuki doesn’t move them, instead Tetsuya ends up in some awkward angle, with Suzuki fucking him hard and fast. His head is still fizzing, his body is agonised, screaming happily at him. Suzuki is growling in his ear, but he can’t focus. His head is banged off the wall again. “Look at me, pervert.” Suzuki grabs his wrist, and pulls his hand towards his hard cock. He looks stern, his lips pressed together thin. Tetsuya curls his fingers around his dick, moving his hand slowly. It feels like Suzuki is giving him a reprieve, a moment to collect and brace himself, until he speeds up his fuck again. Tetsuya’s one free hand scrabbles over Suzuki’s shoulders, trying to gain purchase and leverage. Suzuki smacks his head with the heel of one hand.

“Don’t.” He moans weakly. He’s not sure he can take too many more smacks to his head without vomiting or passing out. Suzuki snorts dismissively, his hands clamp onto his hips, pulling him down into each thrust. He’s clinging on, one hand on Suzuki’s shoulder, the other stroking his cock. His head is aching. He rests his chin against Suzuki’s shoulder. He’s moaning, and panting pathetically in Suzuki’s ear. He focuses on the sound of Suzuki’s skin slapping against his, trying to ignore the pain in his head. One of Suzuki’s hands tangles in his hair, pulling his head to the side. His lips against skin of Tetsuya’s throat. It almost gentle, _almost_ , right until Suzuki bites his neck. His teeth scrape over Tetsuya’s skin. Tetsuya’s hand speeds up, chasing his orgasm. Suzuki cums with a sharp grunt in Tetsuya’s ear. Tetsuya keeps rubbing his cock. He’s close. He’s so close. Suzuki stays against him, panting in his ear. He bites Tetsuya’s earlobe, pulling it slightly.

“Cum, pervert.” His voice is gruff, a growl that sends a shudder through Tetsuya’s body, that combines with his orgasm. Suzuki smirks at him, and pulls his trunks back into place. The waistband snaps against his skin. The snapping sound jolts him to himself. He meets Suzuki’s eyes easily. It’s clear from Suzuki’s expression he wasn’t expecting that. He sneers, shoves Tetsuya back against the wall, his head smacks off of it again, and stalks away like a big cat hunting. Tetsuya adjusts his trunks, rearranging his genitals, ignoring the way his cum is soaking the front, and Suzuki’s is seeping out of him into the fabric at the back. He feels better. He feels like himself. He feels like there might be an end to this in sight. He feels like he might survive this, like he might actually win.


	3. The King's Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king's treasure has been claimed. The king seeks his revenge.

He won.

He’d not exactly expected to win, but he did. The old man had pounded him, twisted him, beat him almost to breaking point, but he drew blood, he scored the victory. It feels like a strange vindication for all he’s put himself through. It’s not the end. He doesn’t think it’s going to be the end at least. He’ll want more of the pain that old perverted bastard can give him, but not tonight he needs it to be put aside. He needs to recover. The old bastard probably needs it too.

The belt is on the bench opposite him. He’d forgotten it in the ring. Some young lion had set it on the table in front of him. He’d forgotten it, left it on purpose, again there, and now it’s on the bench. It feels like it’s mocking him. A pure white strap of leather, with glistening gold plates. He’d trashed the awful thing, it should be even more of a wreck than him, but it’s pristine again. He’s even more of a wreck than the last time he was stuck with this shitty thing. A wreck of a man with a belt he doesn’t want, and body that aches.

The doctor had told him to rest, to keep his weight off his leg, to ice it, to elevate it, to _rest_ it. He probably will. It hurts too much to do anything but rest it. He hurts too much for anything but rest.

Evil had basically carried him back, a strong set of arms around him, holding him up, keeping his weight from his messed-up knee. Bushi fluttered around, water, painkillers, concerned looks, mothering as he does. His role in this team is that of mother, and he takes it seriously. Sanada trailed along behind, quiet, watching, standing guard. Hiro wasn’t there. Hiro still isn’t there. It almost hurts that he’s not there. He should be. He should be at least pleased to see the belt. He likes belts. Even this one, the belt Tetsuya hates with every fibre of his being. He wants to ask where Hiromu is, but that feels like it would be undercutting the others. His brothers are here for him, and he should be content with that. He shouldn’t be enquiring after his protege like he was more important. He is. He shouldn’t be, but he is. Tetsuya loves his brothers, loves them dearly, but Hiromu is different. Hiromu isn’t just his brother. Hiromu is his student, his protege, his brother, his friend, his lover, his. The possessive is enough to describe him really. Hiromu is his. He’s also not in the locker room, where he should be. Hiro will be somewhere. Hiro will be fine. Hiro should be here.

He’s with Suzuki.

A terrible, dark thought, one Tetsuya shouldn’t entertain. It lingers though. He can’t say why or where it came from, but it’s there rattling around his aching head. Bushi is in front of him suddenly, blocking his view of the belt. He’s never been more grateful for Bushi’s face.

“We need to get you clean.” He’s not wearing an expression, or a mask. He’s still in his ring gear, sweat matting his hair, and dried in strange shimmers on his skin. He sounds tired. Being mother hen of this gang of misfits is exhausting.

“I don’t think he can stand long enough to shower.” Evil sounds deflated, like all of his energy has been drained out. He and Sanada won. Sanada went through a table, Evil took a beating. Not one of them had a good night, despite the lack of defeats. “I’m not even sure he can hear you.” Bushi scowls at that. He waves his hand in front of Tetsuya’s face. He doesn’t acknowledge it. Hiromu should be there. He’s always there after a _big_ match. He’d seemed worried in the ring, hovering, watching, lips pursed, eyebrows knit. He wasn’t happy. He’s usually happy about new belts. _Scared_. He’d been scared. He’d spoken to Tetsuya, but he honestly can’t remember what he’d said. He’d wanted to touch him, to comfort him because he’d looked so scared, but everything hurt too much. Hiro hadn’t even taken the belt, that’s how much Tetsuya had scared him.

“Where’s Hiro?” It’s the first thing Tetsuya’s said since leaving the doctor, and whilst Evil looks relieved, Bushi looks frustrated. He’s focusing on one problem at a time. Tetsuya is hurt, needs washed, medicated, and put to bed. That is his focus right now. Hiromu is problem to be handled once Tetsuya is safely taken care of, until then, Hiromu can wander freely, causing random mischief. Bushi makes the same mistake with Hiro most people do. He assumes Hiro is a creature of instinct. He is not. Hiromu’s mind is full of plans, bewildering plans, linked with red strings like a conspiracy board, or fate. He has the most terrifyingly beautiful mind Tetsuya has ever encountered. He’s spent years trying to fully understand Hiromu’s logic, always failing, but never miserably. It’s a delight to see just how complexly exciting the world is through Hiro’s eyes. “He should be here.” Bushi throws his hands into the air, his face turning skywards.

“I could go look for him.” Sanada offers quietly. He’s hurt and tired as well, but can see that Tetsuya needs an answer to his question. People underestimate Sanada too. He’s more than a handsome face and questionable fashion sense.

“I’ll text him!” Bushi grabs his phone. A moment later the chirp of a text. Hiromu left his phone. He’s not overly fond of it. In a rambling, roundabout way, he’d explained he’d chosen to be Kamaitachi in Mexico, because they were wind demons. Hiro likes the idea of being as free as the wind, and sees his phone as a way of being trapped. He _forgets_ it whenever he’s doing something he knows Tetsuya will disapprove of.

_Kaze ni nare!_

He feels sick to go along with his agony. Suzuki has always used Hiromu against him, from the very beginning Hiro has been a weak spot that Suzuki had homed in on. Being a lonely warrior had to get old eventually, and what better revenge for taking his treasure than to take Tetsuya’s _pet_. It can’t be the case. Suzuki hasn’t shown any real interest in Hiro, not concerted interest, only enough to raise Tetsuya’s heckles, only enough to make sure that Tetsuya keeps his eyes on Suzuki. He can’t see Hiromu agreeing to it either. There’s nothing for him to gain, no leverage, no benefit, nothing. Hiromu doesn’t sleep with people like Suzuki for fun, he’s too rough for Hiro’s tastes, so he’d have to be forced or persuaded into it, and as perverse a man as Suzuki is, Tetsuya can’t see him stooping to coercion or force.

“Naito.” Sanada’s hand is in his shoulder, pressing him back down into the bench. He hadn’t noticed he’s gotten up. Hiromu really is a glaring weakness. “I’ll go take a look for him, okay? You listen to Bushi, before he kills you, and then Hiro too.” Sanada gives him a tight, pained smile. His hand squeezes Tetsuya’s shoulder. Before he leaves, he pulls Bushi into a hug, and says something kind enough to put a smile on his face. Bushi has a nice smile. He’s got a nice face in general. It’s a shame he hides it behind a mask really.

“Right, let’s get you in the shower.” Evil gets up, slapping his thighs deliberately, breaking the strange silence that had fallen over them. The original three. When this started it’d been him, then Evil, then Bushi. Sanada had joined without much comment. He’d fit in well. Hiromu had raised questions though. From the moment Tetsuya had mentioned he was coming back from Mexico, Bushi had been concerned. Not against his joining, just aware that more than anyone else, Hiromu would change the dynamic between everyone. Odd little Hiro, with his bright, sunny veneer, and the kaleidoscope of everything else core. Odd, little Hiro that Tetsuya would defend over and against every one of them. Odd little Hiro who Tetsuya loves. The only time Bushi raised a true objection to Hiro joining, they’d fought. Not the light squabbling of teammates and brothers, a genuine fight that ended with Bushi dabbing at a split lip. Things had changed that day, an unspoken pecking order change. Tetsuya loves his brothers, but Hiromu isn’t just his brother, and he adores him.

“You’re right, I can’t stand on this long enough to shower.” Tetsuya gestures to his leg. Bushi nods, and starts pulling off his gear, Evil following suit. “A threesome? Guys, I’m flattered, but…” Tetsuya laughs. Bushi looks at him sharply, stoops down and starts untying Tetsuya’s boots.

“I need a shower too.” He doesn’t look up, he keeps his eyes on removing Tetsuya’s boots. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and then back to the hotel.” Bushi is talking to himself, talking to make the situation more bearable. He’s stressed, that much is clear. Bushi only twitters like this when he’s _very_ stressed. “We’ll get you medicated, and you have a good nap, hmm?” Bushi pulls one boot off, and starts untying the other. “Sanada will bring Hiro home, and I’ll make sure he’s okay for you, all right? Then I’ll send him to bed, and you can both sleep till noon.” He looks up at Tetsuya. He’s so stressed his hands are shaking a little. “He’ll be fine.” He smiles tightly. There’s no colour in his face, and his lips are pressed so tightly together, there’s a tinge of blue in them.

“Hiromu is capable of looking after himself.” Evil sits down beside him. “We need to worry more about Sanada than we do Hiro.” Evil tugs the bands from Tetsuya’s wrists. Bushi leaps at that idea. His wittering shifts to worrying about Sanada. He’s rambling about some girl who was trying to get in Sanada’s pants that first time Tetsuya went to Suzuki. It’s an amusing little tale, and if every inch of his body didn’t ache, he’d laugh along with Evil.

The shower is strange. He spends most of it draped over Evil. Bushi basically washing all three of them. It would have been awkward if it wasn’t for the fact that they know each other so well. These are his brothers, his family, the people who have his back even when he doesn’t have theirs. Still, it was strange. He’s not used to being so helpless. Evil had apologised a thousand times for sometimes real, but mostly imagined twinges to his knee. Bushi had kept talking the whole time, his voice blending with the sound of the water from the shower. He knows it was to try to distract him, he knows that Bushi was trying to focus him on what was happening, but it didn’t work. Hiro still isn’t there. He should be.

“Hiro has fucked Taichi, right?” Evil asks once they’ve showered. He and Bushi dressed Tetsuya first, leaving him sitting on the bench, a new icepack strapped to his knee, more painkillers washed down his throat with some tea Bushi conjured from somewhere. Evil is sitting on the bench, everything but one sock on, his phone in his hand.

“Yeah.” Bushi nods absently, mostly dressed, and still shooting Tetsuya concerned glances. Tetsuya doesn’t like discussing Hiromu’s conquests. It seems rude, but the others seem to have no problem with joking about his tom-cat ways.  

“In that case, both Sanada and I are confused.” He tosses Bushi the phone, and tugs on his last sock. Bushi sits on the bench near Tetsuya, but the phone is at the wrong angle for him to see what Sanada has sent. Bushi tuts, a sharp little sound of annoyance.

“That boy.” He mutters, not looking at Tetsuya. He hands him Evil’s phone. A picture. Hiro, hair tucked up into a beanie, dressed in clothes big enough to fit Evil, sitting beside Taichi who looks like he just stumbled out of Roppongi in the eighties. The photo shows they’re locked in an intense conversation, one that is making both of them stressed. A conversation about Tetsuya and Suzuki no doubt. He locks the phone. He’ll have to renege on his desire to punch Taichi. It seems like he’s suffering from this stupid situation as much as Hiro. “You need to tell him to make better friends, Naito.” Bushi pulls the last of his clothes on, and starts packing Tetsuya’s bag. “Taichi isn’t good company.”

“I dunno. Hiro seems to like him.” Evil’s packing Bushi’s bag behind his back, shooting him concerned looks. “It’s not like they really do anything anyway.” That catches Tetsuya’s attention. It gives him hope that maybe, against considerable odds because Taichi is a quantifier for awful things, they’ve just become good friends. “They just sit, and talk. Hiro gets tipsy, Taichi gets super drunk, and Hiro carries him to his room. That’s it. Nothing to worry about.” Evil zips up Bushi’s bag, and sets it by his own. “Are we hobbling, or you want me to carry you?” He’s watching Tetsuya, waiting for the first sign of pain, so he can feel justified in scooping him up, and carrying him like a sack of rice. Bushi looks at him before Tetsuya can even think to say he’s going to walk. Evil scoops him up, being a sack of rice isn’t so bad, and they’re not going far.

Carefully, Evil sets him down on the hotel bed. He pulls the blankets up over Tetsuya’s body, a nervous smile on his face. He looks so different without the black smears under his eyes, or sunglasses on. He looks more his age, less brooding, and more earnest.

“Thanks.” Tetsuya manages a slight smile, and shifts awkwardly, hoping he hid the wince when he jolts his leg the wrong way.

“Pillow under his knee.” Bushi emerges from the bathroom with a glass of water and what looks like a fistful of medication. Evil slides a pillow under his worst knee. “You okay?” A cool hand on his forehead, and a worried look. Evil quietly takes his leave, and Bushi sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes not moving from Tetsuya. “Answer me, dumbass.”

“I’m okay.” He takes his medication like a good boy, and settles back against the pillows. He wants Hiro. It’s a miserably selfish thing to want, but he is miserably selfish in so many ways. He wants his little protégé there, so he can wrap his arms around him, and pretend he’s not crying pained, frustrated tears into Hiro’s soft hair. He wants Hiromu’s gentle caress, and deep voice soothing him. Bushi shakes his head, and takes the glass from him.

“You’ve always been a shit liar, Tetsuya.” The use of their shared name is rare. A heavy reminder that for all Hiromu knows _everything_ about him, Bushi knows almost as much, and has none of Hiromu’s overt adoration. “You wanna tell me something like the truth, or you wanna keep being an asshole?” He does not want to tell Bushi anything. Bushi is looking at him like his mother used when he’d tell her some lie about the bruise on his cheek, or the rips in his clothes.

“I can’t.” He takes a hold of Bushi’s hand, his thumb moving over the back of it. Bushi’s staring down at their hands, his eyes narrow. “It’s nothing that involves anyone but Hiro, and me…” He trails off. Whilst Hiromu was in Mexico, Bushi had been in his bed. It’s not something they’ve ever really talked about, and very probably why Bushi had been against Hiro joining Los Ingobernables in the first place. He would have known that Tetsuya would keep Hiro closer than anyone, because Bushi was one of the people who got stuck listening to Tetsuya ramble about his little student from all but the very beginning. He can only imagine how annoying he must have been until he finally claimed Hiro as his own.

“Summarise.” Bushi slips his hand free, and lies down beside him. “It’s more than you and Hiro…” Bushi closes his eyes, and breaths heavily out through his nose. “Hiromu and Taichi…oh for fuck sake! Suzuki?” He scowls over at Tetsuya. He glances over, and winces at the look on Bushi’s face. He’s very probably guessed what’s going on. “Have you…is that why Hiro is hanging out with Taichi? What did he barter for you?”

“I don’t know.” Tetsuya mutters. Bushi is frowning at him. His eyes narrowed.

“I sure you don’t deserve him, you know that?” Bushi closes his eyes again. He takes Tetsuya’s hand again. “I’ll stay till you fall asleep.” He leans over, and presses a quick kiss to Tetsuya’s cheek. He falls asleep eventually. It’s hard to drift off though, because Bushi makes an awkwardly truthful point. He very probably doesn’t deserve Hiro, but they’re very much stuck with each other. Hiro is as dedicated to Tetsuya as he is to him.

He wakes up the moment the bed dips under Hiro’s weight. He reaches out, touching the back his neck, feeling his damp hair, and warm skin. A strange feeling of relief fills him. Hiro’s not shaking, not curled into himself. He’s not upset, just tired.

“Where were you?” He asks softly, almost hoping Hiro doesn’t answer, because he’ll spill nothing but concern out, and he wants to be mad that Hiro wasn’t there. He should have been there instead of that awful belt. He’s not sure who took the damn thing to his room, Bushi maybe, but he doesn’t want the damn thing. At least he has Hiromu with him now.

“Go back to sleep.” Hiro sounds sleepy, and barely moves under the caress Tetsuya gives the nape of his neck.

“Who were you with?” He changes the question. Hiromu sighs, and shifts away slightly. He doesn’t shrink from Tetsuya’s touch. He _never_ shrinks from Tetsuya, even when he’s exhausted to the point of tears, Hiro always gravitates to him.

“Are you feeling okay?” He doesn’t say who he was with either. Tetsuya hesitates on repeating his questions. They’re big ones. The answers means a lot to him, but he doesn’t want to think about what it might be. He doesn’t want Hiro to tell him he was with Suzuki. The dethroned king wouldn’t treat Hiro the way he likes. He’d hurt him. He’d make cry out, he’d make cry in general. He can’t imagine Suzuki indulging Hiromu’s love of long, slow kisses, and endless caresses, and suckling blowjobs, and thorough, deep sex that leaves you as boneless as you are breathless. He can picture Suzuki grabbing a handful of Hiro’s hair, forcing him to his knees, all while snarling about how much Tetsuya enjoyed choking on his cock. He shakes his head clear, and slips his hand under Hiro’s neck.

“My knee doesn’t work properly, my head feels like it’s full of glass, and I was worried about you.” He leaves the worst pain for last, feeling Hiromu wince. Hiro kisses the part of Tetsuya’s arm he can.

“I’m sorry. I…” He turns to face Tetsuya. “I’m here now though.” Even in the half-dark of the hotel room he can see Hiromu smile. “I’m sorry I made you worry.” He kisses the tip of Tetsuya’s nose, and rests a hand on his stomach. “It’s strange having that belt back with you...the last time it was here, I had one too.” He sounds almost wistful, but not like he needs encouragement, just like he’s suffering from nostalgia.

“Do you want it? I’ll give it to you.” The hand of the arm under Hiro’s neck starts fussing with his hair. The only reason for it to be damp is that he showered. He must have been with someone whose smell he doesn’t want on his skin over-night.

“No... that’d be disrespectful.” Hiro moves closer, resting his head on Tetsuya’s shoulder. “You might hate it, but it still carries weight.” It carries a lot of weight, more weight than Tetsuya wants to attribute to the hideous thing. “And it matches your boots so nicely.” Hiro laughs softly, and nuzzles against his neck. Tetsuya kisses his forehead. He wants nothing to do with that awful thing, but it’s not a big thing. He’ll lose it to someone, and be rid of it. Until then, it can stay where it is. He’ll be damned if he’s carrying it with him. “I’m tired.” Hiro smothers a yawn against Tetsuya’s shoulder. “Sleep now.” Hiro kisses Tetsuya’s shoulder, and snuggles up a little closer. Tetsuya presses his face to Hiromu’s hair, holds him tight, and falls asleep easily.

“Shh…shh…it’s just Bushi…stay asleep, Tsu-tsu.” The moment Hiromu tries to pull away from him, Tetsuya begins to wake up. His arm tightens around Hiro’s shoulders, stopping him from moving away. He always resents Hiro trying to leave his side when they fall asleep together. “Shh…sh, sh, shh.” Hiro’s hand strokes over his stomach, his voice soft in his ear.

“He needs to take two of these ones, and three of these.” Bushi’s voice is quiet, pitched to not wake Tetsuya. He sounds like he’s awake a little earlier than he wants, and like he’d rather be asleep, but has decided that he has to do this.

“What are those ones?” Hiro tires to pull away again. Tetsuya’s arm tightens again. Hiro’s hand skims down his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.” Hiro quiet and gentle in his ear. “I need to talk to Bushi, but I’ll be right here.” It’s enough to offer him some stupid comfort. Hiro twists to face Bushi, apparently not minding that Tetsuya’s arm is around his throat. The conversation is about the medication the doctor gave him. He can feel Hiro’s voice vibrating in his throat against his arm.  

“Anti-inflammatory. The doctor’s worried it’ll swell.” Bushi’s half-whisper is like waves on the beach. “These ones are painkillers.”

“What kind? It’s not the ones that make him sick is it?” Hiro shifts again, pressing himself back against Tetsuya’s body. “The doctor with the big glasses, right?”

“Yeah…he needs to take these in like an hour.” The bed dips a little further. Hiro shifts, his head resting back against Tetsuya’s shoulder. Strands of Hiro’s flicker against the side of Tetsuya’s face, Bushi must have ruffled it. “I don’t know how he shares a bed with you, you little ice cube.” Bushi’s arm is draped over Hiro’s waist. He’s a little surprised Bushi is sleeping with them, but not complaining. Hiro gets cold when he sleeps, having someone else there to warm him up, isn’t something he minds.

“He’s very warm.” Hiro snuggles back a little more, and Tetsuya drifts back to sleep easily.

He’s woken by Hiro moving away again. He’s always been woken up by Hiro trying to get out of bed, even before they’d had sex, even before they’d ever kissed. He’d gotten used to having Hiro pressed against him quickly when they’d collapse into Hiro’s tiny little bed in the Dojo after he’d train him. It was never meant to be sexual. It was supposed to be just teacher and student. Whilst Hiromu has aged beautifully, his pretty face wasn’t what drew Tetsuya in, it was him. The more he learnt about him, the more he grew to adore him. His little student is in so many ways, the perfect compliment to him.

“Wakey-wakey.” Hiro’s fingers gently tap over his face, like a butterfly dancing on his skin. He makes a lazy grab for Hiro. He misses. “C’mon, wake up, and take your meds.”

“Gimme some water.” He lets Hiro go, and sits up. He doesn’t think too much about the amount of pills he’s been handed. The more pills, the more broken he is. He doesn’t want to think about how damaged his knee is. It’ll be okay, the doctors will make sure of it. Hiro presses a kiss to his forehead, and settles back into bed at his side.

“Back to sleep.” Hiromu snuggles against him, and kisses along Tetsuya’s jaw. Hiro has the softest early morning voice, all deep and rich, like melted chocolate. Hiro’s thumb moves over his chest, slow and soothing. Hiro presses a kiss over his heart, and rests his cheek on the same spot. Hiromu is the best teddy bear, so he falls asleep easily.

A little while to rest was good, but the next match comes too soon. He’s glad it’s with his family, he’s not ready for a one-on-one match. He’d rather it was against almost anyone but Suzuki and his lackeys. Suzuki can’t look at him for more than five seconds at a time. He looks like he’s powered solely by fury. His actions are fluid, and vicious. His attacks hard, and cruel. Until he comes to Tetsuya. It still hurts, but it’s almost careful, it’s almost kind.

After the match, he takes his meds from Bushi, and heads to see the doctor again. He’s given more pills, and more orders to rest his knee, and to himself in general. The nurse jokes that he should go the spa with Bushi. It’s a tempting thought. A good few hours being pampered, and scolded because Bushi would scold him for all the nonsense he’s been forcing everyone through. Then dinner in the crappy little restaurant they all like, everyone all together, laughing at tales of Sanada’s women, and Evil’s secret shyness. To finish the whole day, he’d go lie on the couch in Hiro’s odd little apartment. He’d lie there, staring at Hiro’s back as he works on some random art project, and fall asleep to the sound of Hiro’s odd taste in music, and the sound of his paintbrush on canvas. It sounds like a lovely idea. He’s not going to indulge in it, but it’s a lovely thought all the same.

He hobbles back to the LIJ locker room, half leaning on the wall. His knee is throbbing, and slightly swollen. He wants to lie down and ice it, which is a surprise. For so long now he’s felt not quite himself, but he feels like himself. His skin finally fits. Beating Suzuki fixed him, or maybe it was getting that garbage belt back did the trick. Whatever it was, he feels better.

“Pervert.” A low growl, jolts from his own thoughts. Suzuki is standing in the corridor, his eyes narrowed, scowling at Tetsuya. He strides forward, his face hard and cold. He grabs a handful of Tetsuya’s hair. “Where the fuck is it?” He growls in Tetsuya’s ear. His voice is at once ice and fire. The dreadful belt is who knows where. Bushi took it, rather than let Naito toss it in the garbage where it belongs. He shrugs in response to Suzuki’s question. “Where the fuck is my belt?”

“In your locker room?” Tetsuya rolls his eyes, but doesn’t react beyond that. Suzuki pulls his head back, baring his throat.

“Bring it to me. Five-twenty-two.” Suzuki yanks his hair back further, so far that it almost pulls him off his feet. “Bring it to me, or I’ll come and take it.” Suzuki lets him go, and throws him at the wall. “I’m sure your pet can tell me where you are.” Suzuki leaves him with that dagger like smirk. He rolls his eyes. Suzuki’s empty threats are just that, empty. His desire for the belt can go unfulfilled. He’s no idea where the damn thing is. He should have told Suzuki to ask Bushi where it is. He’s done with Suzuki, for now. He has the feeling that eventually he’ll want Suzuki’s dubious mercy again, but right now, he’s good.

The locker room is the chaos, but that’s how it should be. The Los Ingobernables locker room is a land of jumble, and it’s soothing to see it. His family are as they should be, and he is as he should be.

“What did the doctor say?” Bushi doesn’t look up from packing his bag. Sanada does, his eyebrows knit. Evil meets Sanada’s gaze, and leaves the locker room. He pats Tetsuya’s shoulder on his way past.

“More of the same. Rest, pills, and ice.” Tetsuya sits heavily, and starts unlacing his boots. Once more, Hiromu is missing, but not for long. He wanders in with a lazy smile, and flops down beside Tetsuya. His hand slides through Tetsuya’s hair, then sinks to his knees. He bats Tetsuya’s fingers out of the way, and starts untying his boots for him.

“Where were you?” Bushi’s staring at Hiromu’s back. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pressed together. Concerned and annoyed is an expression Bushi has mastered a long time ago.  

“Hmm?” Hiro glances back at Bushi. Whatever was on his face puts Bushi’s mind at rest, a relieved smile settles on Bushi’s lips. “Why haven’t you been to the shower yet? How long were you at the doctor?” Hiro’s expression is the same fluid mix of annoyance and concern as Bushi.

“Not long.” Hiro is judging him like he knows about meeting Suzuki in that corridor. Somehow, he’d not be surprised if he did. Hiro generally just _knows_ things. He pets Hiromu’s hair back from his face, forgetting about the others.

“Shower.” Hiro smiles up at him, and hauls Tetsuya off the bench. He leads the way to the shower, a cheerful little grin on his face.

They share a dinner at some crappy, little restaurant. A familiar air settles over them. The normal teasing, joking, bitching, and planning of his family. Things feel normal. _He_ feels normal. After dinner, Sanada drags Bushi out with him and Evil. Hiro seems tired, almost suspiciously so, but he’s not going to complain. Tired Hiromu is a sweet thing. He snuggles up to Tetsuya in the taxi, his arms tightly wrapped around Tetsuya’s. The driver looks back at them, probably assuming that Hiromu’s drunk. He falls asleep before they get to the hotel. With his knee wrapped as it is, he can’t carry Hiro up the stairs.

“Hey.” He bops Hiromu on the nose. Hiro blinks at him sleepily, and clambers out of the taxi. The driver is standing by their unloaded bags, waiting for his payment. Tetsuya settles the bill. Hiromu carries the bags in. In the elevator his head leans against Tetsuya, his eyes closed. He’s not seen Hiromu this tired in a long time, not since he was a Young Lion and they’d spent hour upon hour working on wrestling moves. “You tired?” Tetsuya wraps an arm around Hiro’s waist, and rests his chin on his shoulder. Hiro shakes his head, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m not tired, I’m just...” Hiro trails off, his eyes falling closed. Tetsuya kisses the side of his head again, squeezing him a little tighter.

The hotel room is small. A bed, a dresser, a tiny bathroom, but Hiro doesn’t seem to care. He dumps the bags on the floor, and collapses face first on the bed, his feet hanging off the edge.

“Hiro?” A vague groan emits from him, and he toes off his shoes. “Hiro?” His only reaction to that is to squirm up the bed, and flop onto his back.

“I’m sleeping.” He smiles vaguely. He stretches out, arms and legs splayed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Hmm?” Tetsuya stares at him. He’d not expected Hiro to call him out on that, he’d expected him to leave some ambiguity about him knowing that Suzuki had demanded Tetsuya’s attention again. The last time was the same. Suzuki had sent the message, Suzuki had reached out to him, Suzuki found him in corridors. The pervert king has it worse that Tetsuya had ever expected. It’d be useful information if he were as prone to plans as his little student, but the cunning streak in Hiromu is all him. Tetsuya isn’t particularly skilled in the art of conniving plans, getting under people’s skin he can do, but not the way Hiromu does it. Hiro can be subtle in the most terrifying ways, seeping into your consciousness until every thought is tinged with his melodic voice.

“Suzuki is in five-twenty-two.” Hiro squirms out of his shirt and jeans, then wraps himself in the blanket on top of the bed. For all his subtly, Hiro can also be as blunt as a hammer. “Go away, lemme sleep.” Tetsuya perches on the side of the bed, and moves Hiromu’s hair from his face.

“Fuck him.” Tetsuya strokes Hiro hair lazily, watching him fondly. He falls asleep easily, his cheek on Tetsuya’s thigh. He feels content, utterly content. It feels like it’s been a long time since he was this content. Hiro makes a soft little huff of a noise, and snuggles against his thigh. He doesn’t need Suzuki. He settles back against the headboard, and lets his eyes drift closed, falling into a doze.

There’s a sudden bang on the door, probably a night porter carrying a bag for some late arriving client. Loud enough to jolt Hiro awake. He grumbles, and shifts away, turning his back to Tetsuya. He tugs the blanket up over his head, and squirms to make himself more comfortable. Tetsuya lays down behind Hiro, catching him by his waist. Hiro makes a quiet inquisitive noise.

“It’s okay. Just some porter.” He pulls the blanket down a little, and kisses the back of Hiro’s head. Hiromu grumbles again, and snuggles back against Tetsuya. “Back to sleep.” He kicks his shoes off, and squeezes Hiro a little tighter.

He must have drifted off, because the sound of the door lock opening jolts him awake. He slips out of the bed, petting Hiro’s hair when he whines in his sleep. He’s no idea who could be coming in, the only person he can think of with a key might be Bushi, but he’s no reason to be bothering them. Suzuki enters the room. He waves a key card at Tetsuya, and slips it into his pocket. He casts his eyes around. His gaze rests on Hiro. His lips quirk into a smile. He approaches Tetsuya, grabs a handful of his hair, and bangs his head off the wall. Tetsuya slides down the wall, feeling oddly dazed. Suzuki smirks at him, and he strides over to the bed. He perches on the side of the bed, and strokes a finger down Hiro’s cheek. Hiro makes an unhappy little noise. Suzuki takes a handful of his hair, and lifts his head up. He grumbles, and is shushed softly by Suzuki.

“Little pet, wake up.” Suzuki’s still smirking, but his voice is soft, and gentle in a way he’s never heard before. “Wakey, wakey.” Hiro grumbles again.

“Lemme sleep.” He groans, his hands scrabbling at Suzuki’s hand. He freezes the moment he realises who has a handful of his hair. “Suzuki?” He sounds confused, and Suzuki laughs at him.

“Yes, little pet.” Suzuki shifts, blocking Tetsuya’s view. His head hurts, but he can’t keep letting Suzuki harass Hiro. “Tell me something.” Tetsuya drags himself over to the bed. Suzuki kicks him back. “Where is my belt?”

“In your room? Naito usually leaves his in his pants…did you?” Hiro still sounds sleepy, but there’s an edge to his voice, a teasing little lilt. Suzuki laughs at him, and Hiro yelps. “Lemme go!” He twists, and suddenly Suzuki is flat on his ass on the floor. Hiro shifts on the bed, turning his back on Suzuki dramatically. Tetsuya should remember that Hiro can generally look after himself. He may be small and cute, but he’s a dangerous man when he’s threatened. Suzuki laughs, and gets up to his knees. He leans against the bed.

“Where is my belt, pet?” Suzuki is watching Hiro thoughtfully. Tetsuya sits on the end of the bed, and pushes Suzuki away from Hiromu and the bed. The old bastard sits on the floor, his chin in his palm. “If you don’t answer me, little pet, I’ll make your owner.”

“Yeah…good luck with that.” Hiro snorts dismissively, and pulls the blanket up over his head. Suzuki turns his attention to Tetsuya. He ignores the old pervert, and fusses with the blanket. Suzuki’s hand wraps around his ankle. The hand tightens, his bones grind against each other. He’s suddenly yanked off the bed. Suzuki tangles him into some painful hold, stretching his leg the wrong way. Hiro appears over the edge of the bed. His hair falling over his face in that way that makes him look at once adorable and dangerous. “Doesn’t that hurt Naito-san?” Hiro reaches out, and touches the back of Suzuki’s hand. The old bastard growls in Tetsuya’s ear, and deepens the hold.

“It’s annoying.” He answers Hiro’s question as flippantly as he can, hoping he sounds more in control that he feels. His leg is burning, he can feel the heat of Suzuki’s anger, and can’t look aware from the smouldering gaze Hiromu’s pinned him with. Everything is too hot, too tight, almost too much.

“Annoying…that doesn’t sound very fun.” Hiro touches Tetsuya’s leg, just above Suzuki’s hands. “How sad…” Hiro laughs softly.

“Make your pet tell me where my belt is.” Suzuki changes the hold, twisting both of Tetsuya’s legs into a different pretzel. Hiro smiles at him, the sort of smile he gives his opponents, full of filth and fire. It’s a beautiful thing to be on the receiving end of. His legs are wrenched further the wrong way. Pain sears through him. Hiro’s smile hasn’t changed. He understands what it’s like to be opposite Hiromu in the ring. His little student, when he’s not looking at him with his normal smitten eyes, is a beautiful, but intimidating thing.

“What if I don’t know, uncle Suzuki?” Hiro’s voice is deep and melodic. Suzuki deepens the hold further. Tetsuya grits his teeth.

“Where is it, pet?” Suzuki’s breath is lightly tinged with whisky, and falls into that deep rumble of his promos. “Tell me, or your owner will be on crutches.”

“Hmm.” Hiro slips from the bed, and settles on his knees between Tetsuya’s splayed and abused legs. “Do you want me to kiss it better, Naito-san?” Hiro’s hand rests on Tetsuya’s cheek, a lazy quirk of a smile on his lips. Suzuki wrenches back, dragging a groan of pain from him. “Does it hurt bad, Naito-san?” Hiro’s fingers trail down his thigh to Suzuki’s hands. Hiro leans in, his hands in Tetsuya’s hair. For a second, he pauses, meeting Tetsuya’s eyes carefully. _Okay?_ Hiro mouths to him. He manages a smile, and Hiro closes the distance between them, kissing him slow and soft. His hands are free enough to tangle in Hiro’s hair. Suzuki snarls, and releases the hold. He kicks Tetsuya to the side. Hiro leans away, his back against the side of the bed. Suzuki is staring at Hiro, an expression that’s nothing but danger on his face.

“Where is my belt, pet?” Suzuki’s smiling, a sharp, cruel smirk. Hiro returns that with a smile of his own, soft and kind. Suzuki gets to his feet, and bats Tetsuya’s head with his foot. He’s not taken his eyes from Hiro. “You know where it is…I know, you know.” A particularly vicious kick to his head has Tetsuya sprawling on the floor.

“Hmm.” Hiro lays on the floor beside him. His hand rests on Tetsuya’s cheek. He pecks the tip of Tetsuya’s nose. Tetsuya shifts, and pulls Hiro closer, pulling him into a proper kiss. Suzuki stamps on his ankle. Tetsuya grunts in pain. Hiro raises to his feet, and steps over to Suzuki. “Uncle Suzuki…I don’t want to play with you.” Hiro reaches up, cupping his face. “You’re too mean.” Suzuki laughs, and wraps an arm around Hiro’s waist. He pulls him in close, his lips against Hiromu’s ear. Tetsuya can’t hear what Suzuki’s saying, but Hiro’s posture hasn’t changed, which is either good or bad, it’s hard to tell with Hiro. Something unpleasant settles in Tetsuya’s stomach when Suzuki slides a hand into Hiromu’s hair. He’s kissing Hiro, what looks like the sort of kiss Hiro likes. Slow, and gentle.

“You have my word, little pet.” Suzuki kisses Hiromu’s forehead, and releases him. He turns to Tetsuya with a smirk. “He’s being trained by Taichi, pervert. You should be concerned.” Suzuki glances back at Hiro, there’s something almost fond in his expression. Hiromu has an unnerving ability to turn his threats into his protectors. The most dangerous of people, when faced with Hiro, at least outside of the ring, are charmed by him.

“Hiro, c’mere.” Tetsuya waves Hiromu over to him. Without pause, Hiro is over to him, on his knees, kissing Tetsuya. He may incline his head to others, and he may seem untrained, but he answers Tetsuya. The ties between them are old and strong, nothing truly comes between them. Once Hiro pulls back from Tetsuya’s kiss, Suzuki kicks him to the floor. His foot rests on Tetsuya’s head, keeping his face pressed to the ground uncomfortably.

“Your owner has needs, little pet…different to what you can do for him.” There’s something coercive about that tone, wheedling, like he’s angling for something more. Hiromu sniffs haughtily, and sits on the end of the bed. He’s watching Suzuki with that blank unimpressed stare he gives all of their opponents. The looks that says they’re nothing to him. Suzuki moves his foot, and grabs one of Tetsuya’s arms, pulling it back sharply. “He’s the worst kind of pervert.”

“Really?” Hiromu sounds completely bored. Tetsuya can’t help the smile that spreads over his lips at Hiro’s utter apathy to Suzuki’s words. He sighs, and settles back on his elbows. “Worse than the pervert who gets off on causing the pain? Isn’t that worse than the one receiving it?” Hiro’s watching them lazily. Suzuki drops Tetsuya’s arm, and grabs his legs instead, twisting him into something painful. Tetsuya groans, not holding back like he did in other encounters with Suzuki. It hurts, and he doesn’t hesitate to show it. His head falls to the floor, looking up at Hiromu. Suzuki changes his hold, pressing his front to Tetsuya’s back as he twists his legs the wrong way.

“He needs it to hurt, don’t you pervert?” Suzuki sneers in Tetsuya’s ear.  “Look how hard he is from just this.” It’s not just the pain that’s got him excited. It’s Hiro’s weighty, coolly detached gaze. He’s never been on the other side of it before, and he can see why his opponents are backfooted by him. Suzuki wrenches the hold in further. Hiromu climbs off the bed, and crawls over to them. He sits cross-legged in front of Tetsuya, and trails a finger over the bulge in his pants.

“Hiro?” Tetsuya’s voice is paper thin. The pain from Suzuki’s hold, the warmth of his body along Tetsuya’s back, his whiskey tinged breath, all combine with the weight of Hiro’s gaze, and the lightness of his touch to rob him of any focus.

“You want me to touch you Naito?” Hiro trails a finger over Tetsuya’s lips. He nods, reluctantly gasping in pain as Suzuki stretches him back further. “You want me to take care of you?” Hiro’s gaze is blank, smouldering but blank. Suzuki chuckles, low and vicious.

“He wants pain, not this soft shit, little pet.” Suzuki wrenches back even further. Another gasp of pain. His cock is throbbing, aching to be touched.

“Please, Hiro.” He’s damn near whining. Hiromu smiles at him, some small, half-quirk of his lips.

“Please?” He trails a finger over Tetsuya’s covered cock. “It’s not like you to ask so nicely, Naito-san.” Hiro leans in close, his lips against Tetsuya’s. “I like it.” He undoes the buttons of Tetsuya’s fly, and slides his hand into Tetsuya’s underwear. “Maybe I should take lessons from Uncle Suzuki.” Hiromu licks Tetsuya’s lips.

“I knew you’d want my teaching.” One of Suzuki’s hands reach out, and hovers over Hiro’s cheek, not touching him, but teasing it. “We can arrange something, little pet.” Hiro snorts in amusement, and takes a hold of Tetsuya’s cock. He starts moving his hand slowly, his thumb skimming over the weeping tip.

“You’re so hard.” Hiro murmurs, stroking his cock, his eyes still blankly hot. “Does he turn you on this much, Naito-san?” Hiro pulls his hand free. His thumb is glistening with a smear of Tetsuya’s pre-cum. He licks his thumb, his eyes focussed on Tetsuya’s. Suzuki deepens his hold, dragging another gasp of pain from Tetsuya. “Yeah, he must…your dick just twitched.” Hiro bats the head of Tetsuya’s cock with one finger.

“Of course, he’s turned on.” Suzuki releases the hold. “Pants off, pervert.” Tetsuya doesn’t comply immediately, and Suzuki kicks him in the back of his head. He falls forward, stopping just before he lands face first in Hiro’s lap. Hiro’s hands tangle in his hair.

“Take it off, Naito.” Hiro picks his head up, and kisses his forehead. “Everything, socks too.” Tetsuya scrambles to his feet. There’s something about Hiro’s uninterested tone that speaks to some part of him that he’s never really been aware of before. He wants his little student’s attention on him the way it usually is. This detached, blank creature staring at him isn’t his Hiromu, and he wants his sweet, little student’s attention on him where it belongs. His clothes end up in a pile faster than he was expecting. Suzuki has taken a seat on the bed behind Hiromu. He’s smirking at Tetsuya lazily, his gaze heavily judgemental.

“I’ve read the situation wrong, haven’t I, pervert?” Suzuki laughs, and gently strokes Hiromu’s hair. Hiro turns to look at him sharply, and whatever expression on his face has Suzuki nodding. “You’ve trained him so well, pet.” He ruffles Hiromu’s hair. Hiro turns to face Tetsuya, shifts back, and rests his head against Suzuki’s knee.

“What do you want, Naito-san?” The honorific is quietly mocking. The bland tone, the blank look, the lazily quirk of his lips, the creature at Suzuki’s knee isn’t Tetsuya’s little protégé, it’s something else, something nearly unearthly; beautiful but untouchable. Suzuki is lazily stroking Hiro’s hair, watching Tetsuya a smirk on his face.

“Answer him, pervert.” Suzuki’s voice is nothing but a dagger, sharp and gleaming. A smile to match that tone spreads over Hiro’s lips. “What do you want?” His mind empties. He’s no idea what he wants, other than Suzuki’s cruelty, and this odd incarnation of Hiromu’s teasing touch. Suzuki runs a finger down Hiro’s cheek.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants, uncle Suzuki.” Hiro tilts his head to one side, that dagger of a smile still on his face. “But I know…he wants you to hurt him.” Tetsuya shifts from foot to foot. He has the urge to cup his genitals, to hide his blatant erection from them both. The heat and weight of both of their stares, he feels almost embarrassed.

“Is he right?” Suzuki’s hand is still running through Hiro’s hair, like he was Suzuki’s beloved pet. It stirs something inside him, something jealous and vicious, but Hiro’s blank look keeps him in place. It’s hard to endure that look, but he doesn’t want to disappoint this unearthly version of Hiro. Suzuki eyes him coolly. “You want me to hurt you?” Tetsuya looks between them. Suzuki’s vicious glare, Hiro’s empty stare.

“I…” He can’t force words out. He closes his eyes, and bows his head. It’s strange how oddly submissive he feels in the face of them both. His normal rebellious streak, his normal disdain for authority, his normal apathy for obedience falls away.

“Uncle Suzuki, you should give him something nice.” Hiro crawls over to him, and licks a stripe up Tetsuya’s cock. “Something that makes him cry out properly.” Tetsuya’s hands reach for Hiro’s hair.

“Don’t touch him.” Suzuki snaps. Before Tetsuya can even blink, his arms are caught in a hold. Hiromu starts sucking his cock in earnest. His head bobs up and down slowly, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Suzuki tightens his hold. Hiro looks up at him. The spark in his eyes, the usual fire that burns there, is absent. The empty blank stare is unnerving, but oddly captivating. He stares up at Tetsuya unwaveringly. He wants to touch Hiromu. He wants to tangle his hands in his hair. He wants to guide his head. He can’t. Suzuki’s hold on his arms is agonisingly tight. His shoulders are screaming. He wants to beg, or plead to be allowed to touch Hiro. Suzuki changes he hold, wrenches his arms into a different hold. He wraps an arm around Tetsuya’s throat.

“Fuck.” He grunts as his air is cut-off, and Hiromu takes his cock to the root. He moans pitifully, as Hiro’s sucks him, bobbing his head up and down. He trained Hiro too well in this. He’s surpassed Tetsuya in the art of cock sucking. He wants to touch him, he wants to touch him so badly. Hiromu pulls back, Tetsuya’s cock falling from his mouth. The dagger smile on his swollen lips, his eyes dark and blank. Suzuki kicks the back of his knee, making him collapse in front of Hiro. He cups Tetsuya’s face. He rests his forehead against Tetsuya’s. _Okay?_ Hiro mouths against his lips. He kisses Hiro as an answer. Suzuki pulls his hair, breaking the kiss.

“I told you, pervert.” He kicks Tetsuya’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor beside Hiro. Suzuki’s foot rests on the back of his head. “Don’t touch him.”

“I don’t mind uncle.” Hiro stands up. Tetsuya twists his head, so he can see what’s happening above him. Suzuki presses more firmly down on his head, grinding his cheek into the rough carpeting. Hiro brushes a kiss over Suzuki’s cheek. He steps over Tetsuya to stand on the side Tetsuya can’t see. Suzuki is staring at Hiromu, whatever he’s doing is interesting enough for Suzuki to have not blinked in a long time. Trapped beneath Suzuki’s foot, Tetsuya can’t see, but he can guess. Hiro is a showman by nature. In the ring, in interviews, in the bedroom. It’s all a performance for Hiro. Whatever he’s doing is captivating.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” He hopes the mockery in his tone is blatant enough to draw Suzuki’s attention from whatever Hiro is doing. He doesn’t trust this strange allegiance between Hiro and Suzuki. He’s not sure what they’re planning, because he’s sure there’s a plan being concocted over his head.

“Too pretty for you, pervert.” Suzuki’s foot lifts for a second. Tetsuya tries to turn his head, but quickly his head is tapped down to the ground again. “I should take him.” Tetsuya laughs at him. The threat is empty. In this setting, and probably only in this setting, Suzuki seems to respect Hiromu enough to not hurt him. Suzuki grabs his arms, and twists him into a painful hold. “Train him up properly.” Hiromu appears in front of him. His hands cap Tetsuya’s face, and kisses him lightly.

“I am trained properly, though, aren’t I, Naito-san?” Hiromu kisses him lightly. “You call me, and I’ll come to you, won’t I?” He nuzzles along Tetsuya’s jaw. “I’m _your_ pet, no-one else’s.” Hiromu kisses him again. Hiromu declaring himself Tetsuya’s pet doesn’t annoy him the way it does when other people do. It feels acceptable in some small way, at least coming from this strange blank version of his protégé. Hiromu pulls away, and sprawls on his back on the bed. “C’mere.” He beckons Tetsuya to him. Stupid or not, he goes to Hiro. His little student has him wrapped around his finger, there’s no denying that. Hiro reaches out to him, and pulls him down into a kiss. It’s different kissing this strange blank version of Hiro. It’s slow, and thorough, utterly unlike the normal frenetic kiss of his student. He’s not sure if he likes this blank Hiro. He seems delicate, but impossibly powerful in a way that’s utterly different to Hiromu’s normal strength. Hiro takes his hand, and guides it between his thighs. What Suzuki must have been watching was Hiromu prepare himself. “You gonna fuck me, Naito-san?” Hiro’s bland voice, spikes something inside him. He snaps his hips forward, and buries his cock in Hiromu’s ass. He groans beautifully. Suzuki grabs Tetsuya’s hips. “Hmm…maybe you’re not.” Hiromu laughs softly. Suzuki buries a finger in him, a second finger fills him quickly. Hiro starts kissing him again, his body rippling around Tetsuya’s cock, distracting him from Suzuki’s preparations. He buries his cock in Tetsuya suddenly, driving him deeper into Hiromu. Hiro gasps, his nails dig into Tetsuya’s shoulders. Suzuki’s grasp on his hips tightens, pulling him back almost entirely out of Hiromu’s body, and then pushes forward. The action draws a moan from Hiro. Suzuki pulls out of Tetsuya, and dragging Tetsuya with him. He thrusts forward. It feels like Suzuki is using him to fuck Hiromu. He barely withdraws from Tetsuya’s ass, using his firm grasp on Tetsuya’s hips to control his movements. It was strange enough being inside this blank version of Hiromu, but having someone else controlling how he fucks him is even stranger. Strange though it is, it’s good. Hiro is panting softly, moaning as Tetsuya’s cock moves inside him. Tetsuya doesn’t bother to silence his gasping groans as Suzuki uses him to fuck Hiro.

“You like this, little pet?” Suzuki bites Tetsuya’s ear. His breath is hot over the back of Tetsuya’s neck. He’s not talking to Tetsuya, but it seems like Hiro isn’t listening. His eyes are mostly closed, his head pressed back against the pillows, his lips parted. Tetsuya rests his forehead against Hiro’s.

“It feels good?” He asks Hiromu softly. Hiro nods vaguely, a quiet moan escaping him. Suzuki’s grip tightens around Tetsuya’s hips. The spikes of pain from Suzuki’s fingers, the pleasure of Hiromu’s tight body, it all conspires to bring him closer to his own orgasm.

“Touch him.” Suzuki drives Tetsuya deeper into Hiromu. He obeys without thought. Suzuki wants him to please Hiro, and that’s an easy request to fulfil. Hiro moans softly as Tetsuya takes a hold of his cock. Suzuki releases one of Tetsuya’s hips. His hand reaches over Tetsuya’s shoulder, and trails a finger over Hiromu’s lips. “He’s a beautiful thing, pervert. You should keep him closer.” Suzuki is fucking him hard and fast, which translates to something a little slower, a little deeper to the way he’s fucking Hiro. Suzuki returns his hands to Tetsuya’s hips, but he doesn’t move. “Make him cum, pervert.” Tetsuya glances over his shoulder. He rocks his hips forward into Hiromu, and back onto Suzuki’s cock. It feels good moving between them, but his focus is on making Hiro cum.

“Kiss me.” Hiro pants softly, as close to being himself as he’s been since this whole thing started. He kisses him gently. Hiro tangles his hands in Tetsuya’s hair, and returns the kiss slowly, at once like and unlike himself. He breaks the kiss to groan something close to Tetsuya’s name.

“Faster, pervert.” Suzuki bites his ear. “ _Make_ him cum.” The snarl is sharp and cold. Hiro’s nails dig into Tetsuya’s scalp, then he tugs on his hair as Tetsuya follows Suzuki’s order. He speeds up his hand on Hiro’s cock. He knows how to make Hiromu cum, but somehow, he feels under pressure complying with Suzuki’s order. He’s close, the soft keening pants are a sure sign that Hiro’s close.

“C’mon Hiro, c’mon, cum for me.” Tetsuya buries his face against Hiro’s neck, his lips moving over his skin. Hiro’s orgasm tears through him, his body trembling beneath him. Suzuki groans in his ear. His grip on Tetsuya’s hips tighten. He starts pounding him. Hiro’s comes down from his orgasm slowly, his eyes hazy and content, his breathing calming to normal.

“You going to cum, Naito-san?” Hiro’s trying for that toneless voice, but the real Hiro, his beloved student, creeps through. “Cum for me, Tsu-Tsu.” His lips are against Tetsuya’s ear. “I wanna feel you cum deep inside me. Fill me up.” Tetsuya groans, and is dragged away from Hiro by the arm around his throat. Suzuki chokes him, pounding his ass. Tetsuya’s hand futilely scrabbles at Suzuki’s arm, wanting more air. Hiro’s body ripples around his cock, his end is close. He wants to kiss Hiro, he wants more of a connection with his little student, but Suzuki’s arm is still tight around his neck, blocking his air. He cums hard, collapsing against Hiro when Suzuki releases his neck. Suzuki pulls out of Tetsuya’s ass, and his cum lands on his back. He grabs a handful of Tetsuya’s hair, and pulls his head back. He shoves his softening cock into Tetsuya’s mouth. Tetsuya starts licking it clean, as utterly unprepared for Hiro to shove Suzuki back with his foot as Suzuki was.

“Go away, uncle.” Hiro stretches out on the bed, his eyes closed, his lips quirked in a smile. Suzuki’s staring at him, his eyes running over Hiromu’s body. “If he needs you again, I’ll send him to you.” Hiro makes a grab for Tetsuya, and pulls him close, tucking his head under his chin. “Next time, I’m sure you’ll get your treasure back.” Suzuki laughs, something oddly fond in his tone.

“I’ll be waiting then.” Suzuki comes closer, and ruffles Hiromu’s hair. “My offer stands, little pet.” He leaves as quietly as he’d arrived.

“What offer?” Tetsuya squirms in Hiro’s arms, shifting so he can see Hiro’s face. Hiro laughs, and bops Tetsuya’s nose. He chuckles when Tetsuya pulls back a little, wrinkling his nose.

“Nothing I’m going to take him up on. I already said I don’t want to play with him.” Hiro smiles lazily, and snuggles against him. “He’d be too rough with me.” Hiro kisses the tip of Tetsuya’s nose. “Now, got to sleep.” Hiro’s voice is sleepy but entirely himself. It’s the most pleasantly comforting thing he’s heard in what feels like a long time. This night has confirmed to him that he’s himself again. His skin fits perfectly again, the itching is gone. He doesn’t need Suzuki, and hopefully he won’t need him again. The strange, unearthly blank version of Hiromu, on the other hand, he wants that back again.  


End file.
